


Starlight

by whatsup_buttercup



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancer / Space Pirate (?) Victor Nikiforov, Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsup_buttercup/pseuds/whatsup_buttercup
Summary: “This is my room,” Viktor says breezily. “I’d love to give you your own space, but, well, the ship isn’t very big, and I imagine we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”Viktor’s not even looking at him, instead going over messages on his phone. Yuuri clenches his hands into fists. Since childhood, Viktor had been a dream to reach for, someone Yuuri aspired to meet one day, to dance on the same level with. Now he’s here to be his obedient, bedazzled whore; a decoration in this empty room.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags. 
> 
> I couldn't write Dark Viktor if I tried; he's not the villain in this story. Don't worry.

For such a small thing, it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Yuuri holds his breath, tense and sweaty, as the aesthetician presses the silver applicator up to the soft skin of his neck. First there’s heat, radiating from the needle point, chased by pain, sharp and bright. Then the metal barbs engage, fanning out at the base, securing the jewel to his flesh.

He’s been strong for what feels like hours, the skin of his shoulders and back dotted with tiny, sparkling white gems. When it heals, it’ll be beautiful, like a starfield, the aesthetician had explained to Yuuri’s guard. Right now each “star” is circled by angry, red flesh and even Yuuri’s shallow breathing hurts. Yuuri bites his lip, jaw tight, and doesn’t make a sound as the applicator is refilled and pressed near the sensitive join of his shoulder and neck.

“How much longer is this going to take?” The guard asks, glancing up from his phone.

“You can’t rush art. Rurik said he wants a masterpiece.” The aesthetician sniffs and affixes another jewel.

It’s always more difficult, keeping track of planet-based nightcycles in space, but Yuuri thinks it’s been a few days now. A few years, maybe, in this chair alone, each barbed star another blow.

Yuuri’s not a fighter, but he’s an athletic dancer capable of defending himself. He clenches and unclenches his fists, thinking through escape plans and coming up frustratingly blank. There’s nowhere to run to, that’s the problem; no friend in sight.

Yuuri dodges his reflection in the wall’s full-length mirror. It’s probably an enjoyable addition for most of the clients, who come to get a hair mod or a body sculpt. For Yuuri, this is not a voluntary procedure.

He’d danced, like always. His parent’s resort is famous for its hospitality: good food, pristine hot springs, and lately quality entertainment, courtesy of Yuuri’s dancer training. It had been a good life, competing in local dance competitions, working his way up the ranks and even traveling far abroad when he could. Yuuri knows he’s just an average dancer but with work and effort he could be, would be more.

Except... that’s not the case anymore. Kidnapped, on a ship far from home, they don’t even have to tie him down to keep him here. Beneath a small, shaved patch of skin on the back of his skull rests a command chip. Highly illegal, banned on every modern planet, the chip ensures that obedience is absolute. Even if it wasn’t, there isn’t anywhere to run to. Space is unforgiving like that.

Yuuri tries to breathe shallowly, moving his chest as little as possible to avoid further stoking the flames on his back.

“Jamon, I was under the impression that this would be complete two hours ago.” Yuuri startles at the sound of Rurik’s deep voice. He hadn’t even noticed him enter the room.

“Rurik, sir!” The aesthetician, Jamon apparently, jumps up and stands at attention, gem-applicator still in hand. Yuuri can see both of their reflections. Rurik’s handsome face is set in a deep scowl, but his posture oozes confidence: shoulders back, head tall, one hand casually resting in a pocket of his starsilk suit.

“How much longer?” Rurik eyes Yuuri up and down.

“It shouldn’t be more than a few hours, sir. The process is delicate, you see-”

“His back looks hideous. I wanted him to dance tonight.” Yuuri images dancing, through the agony of his back. Impossible. Breathing hurts.

“The gems are a fairly… invasive process, sir. It should be healed in a few days-” Rurik cuts him off with a raised palm.

“Unacceptable. I need him tomorrow, Jamon. Do whatever needs to be done. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tattoos and piercings are a sign of underworld activity and are forbidden at Yu-Topia, Yuuri thinks absently. What will his mother say? 

Jamon picks up his pace, placing the gems with barely a pause in-between. Another reason the gems aren’t popular is because they really hurt to apply, even with painkillers. Not that Yuuri has painkillers. Before today, he’s never seen someone more than a few gems at a time.

When the guard finally drags him back to his cell, limp and drifting, it’s all he can do to accept the hypospray for pain and collapse on his bunk.

If only he’d been faster, or shouted louder, or had his stungun on him-

Yuuri dreams of home.

When he wakes, Yuuri can see Rurik’s blurry form in the room with him.

“I could have made the whole procedure much more painless, you know.” Yuuri can’t lift his head up enough to see him, but he’s sure Rurik’s has that same expression on his face, looking down his nose at everything considered lesser than himself. “But I wanted to make your position crystal clear to you, Yuuri.”

Yuuri shifts, painfully, so he’s angled away from the door and Rurik. It’s all the defiance he can muster up right now.

Rurik laughs. “Enough of that. Let me just say, though, once your back heals it’ll be the talk of the town.”

Yuuri’s throat feels tight with anger. “I’m not an object,” he says. 

“Now, now, that’s simply not true. Yuuri, look at me.”

He tries to fight it. Tenses the muscles in his neck. Grits his teeth.

His back screams agony as he turns to look Rurik in the eye. 

“That’s it.” Rurik praises, then pulls out his phone to check a message. Yuuri can’t look away, the command chip overriding his desires. There’s a reason these chips are illegal everywhere civilized.

“Fuck you,” Yuuri says. He isn’t someone prone to anger or even someone who’s good at expressing emotions outside of dance, but this loss of agency is infuriating. Why does he think he has the right to do this to people? What did I even do to catch his attention?

“That’s not very nice.” Rurik says mildly. “Let me remind you of your situation. Yuuri, stop breathing.”

It isn’t that his throat closes shut or anything. He simply can’t take a breath in our out. Mouth moving on a silent protest, Yuuri clutches at his chest, horrified and feeling the brush of true panic as the seconds tick by. 

He’s still looking at Rurik through it all, the man’s bored face glowing slightly in reflected light from his phone. Lungs burning, deprived of air, it’s hard to pull a coherent thought together past why? What’s the point of all this, suffocating him here?

It’s only after the edges of his vision start to darken and panic has set in fully that Yuuri’s able to take one short, stifled breath, then another, then another, throat burning. Tears have collected in the corners of his eyes and he desperately wants to look away. 

Rurik eyes his tears and harsh breathing, then smiles thinly. “As you can see, I have complete control here. The chip will have you do anything I say. Don’t worry, it only works from your owner, and the chip’s safety will kick in before you can permanently harm yourself.”

Yuuri bits his lip and blinks away the wetness in his eyes. Each breath still burns, from the inside and outside. 

“I’m not a sadist. Just making things clear right from the start.” Rurik says, back to looking at his phone. “And I don’t like boy whores, you’re here for dancing and that’s all from me. You can look away now.”

Yuuri shuts his eyes and tries to get his breathing under control. 

\--

Gold. Everywhere. The floors, the walls, the ceiling. It’s glittering and ostentatious. Viktor Nikiforov sips vodka from his (gold) chalice and wishes he’s sent someone else in his stead. Chris would’ve gotten a kick out of the ridiculous DJ if nothing else; wearing a (gold) hat bedazzled with hundreds of lights that flash in time to the pulsing beat.

If this wasn’t such a good cover for their presence on the planet, he’d have declined the invitation without a second thought. At their last performance, Rurik Visconti had gotten a little too close, a little too friendly. His self-assured pompousness makes Viktor’s skin crawl.

“I thought you said this was going to be fun,” Yuri says, tapping at his phone with a scowl. His tigerprint hoodie hangs loose over thin shoulders. “This is garbage. These people are stupid-”

“I thought this place would be just your taste, Yura.” Viktor says mildly.

Georgi pulls up between them before Yuri can snap back, eyes bright. “I got it.” He gives a thumbs up sign. Georgi’s dressed in enough metallic gold to blend in with the scenery, always one to get into a role.

The pulsing beat of the music is far past the point of being merely annoying. “Have any trouble?” Viktor says, hiding his lips behind his glass for privacy.

Georgi taps his nose, still grinning. “This party is perfect.”

“Good.” Viktor downs the rest of his glass. With Georgi’s confirmation that the negotiations went well, it’s time to make an exit. “Wanna take a picture?” He pulls out his phone.

They all pose, Yuri still scowling with all he has. Viktor holds up bunny ears behind his head. It’ll look perfect on SMS, the elite Nikiforov troupe, having fun at a glitzy party. #TheGlamLife #YOLO

It provides a perfect cover for their real business, a grateful government official just signed a deal with Georgi for an order of 500 Nikiforov Souvenir Matryoshka. Inside the smallest doll of each is a hard-to-transport medicine, which Viktor has agreed to smuggle through a blockade to Seran’s smallest moon colony. It isn’t the colony’s fault the Seran government has banned out-system imports, even needed medical ones.

Giving medicine to the needy. A very saintly (and profitable) excursion.

Viktor texts Mila and scans the room for Rurik himself, to pay his thanks before their exit. Just as he spots the man, accompanied by some very beautiful eye candy, the lights of the club dim. The music switches to a more seductive tone and the chatter of the crowd falls down to a hush.

Of course Rurik would hire entertainment for his fancy party. All eyes in the room turn to the small, raised platform on the left.

Without the flashing lights and grating music, the gold tones of the room are warmer, muted.

Rurik reveres dancers and Viktor is certain that’s the type of entertainment he’s booked. Viktor, a dancer himself, tries to pull up some of the excitement he knows he used to feel before a performance, the joy of seeing new choreography, and comes up blank.

Inspiration is hard to come by, these days.

Oh well. He can’t say goodbye during this.

Viktor turns to watch the stage like the others, pulling on a smile.

The golden curtain rises and the shape of a man appears. It’s too dim to see more than a silhouette: petite, thin waist, powerful thighs. A dancer. The lights rise to reveal more of his form and catch hundreds of little sparkles on his skin, like a field of stars, down the back of each arm and spilling over his neck and shoulders.

Viktor’s breath catches in his throat when he first starts to move.

It takes a certain level of skill to command a room like the dancer does. The music is rhythmic and slow, seeming to flow over his limbs and wrap him in up in it, an invisible cloak that he moves with and embodies. The black-edged-with-gold shorts he wears aren’t as gaudy as the rest of the flashy party, allowing his movements to be the central focus as he does powerful leaps and turns to the seductive beat. They also accent his rather impressive ass and thighs. 

He’s beautiful in the low light. Viktor catches a glimpse of companion bands around his thin wrists and the reason a dancer of this quality is working for Rurik of all people becomes clear. He isn’t a dancer, although he certainly can dance. The companion bands declare that he’s no more than a dolled-up prostitute, body sculpted to some patron’s taste. Rurik’s.

Well, there goes that. Viktor’s interest in talking to him evaporates. Anyone willingly going into Rurik’s employ as a companion doesn’t have Viktor’s respect. He’s pretty and talented, but his performance still has an unpolished form to it.

Disappointed, Viktor taps Yuri on the shoulder. “Head back to the ship. I’ll catch up with you.”

Yuri tears his eyes away from the performance and nods, face impassive. As he and Georgi retreat, Viktor makes his way over the dancefloor to Rurik, who’s still watching the show with a smug grin.

The last few beats of the song play and that’s his cue. Pulling up a blinding smile, Viktor claps Rurik on the shoulder like an old friend. “Thank you so much for inviting us!”

“Viktor!” Rurik’s handsome face pulls into an even more pleased expression. He reaches out jovially and claps Viktor on the back in return, then lets his hand rest down at the small of Viktor’s back, just above where it would be indecent to do so. Viktor pointedly doesn’t flinch. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Rurik had sent him an honest-to-god gold-embossed physical card through a mail carrier. Its envelope had been filled with holographic glitter, which Viktor was still finding bits of in his quarters. “It’s been a pleasure,” Viktor lies. “Great time. You sure know how the throw a party!”

“Did you see my newest prize?” Rurik gestures to the stage, where the curtains are now closed. The lights and music have raised back up to their previous frenetic pace.

“Ah, yes,” Viktor says. “He was lovely. Charming.”

Rurik turns to the young lady on his other arm with flowing pink hair, big blue eyes, a quite impressive bust. “Yalla, darling, go get Yuuri for me?”

As she walks off he sees the glint of a companion cuff on her wrist as well. It makes sense; a man like Rurik must rely heavily on paying people to stay close, because of his singular unpleasantness.

“So, Viktor, I heard you were going to be touring the Seran system next?” Rurik asks. “Seems like an odd place to go. Political turmoil and all.”

“All the better to cheer them up with a dance,” Viktor says. It is an odd choice of a place for a dance troupe to visit, enough that even Rurik has caught on. “Art always flourishes where things are a bit… dramatic.”

“Ah, yes,” Rurik agrees. “You know, after your tour, I’d love to book you-”

Rurik’s going to ask to be his patron again. Viktor sidesteps. “I’ll keep you updated on our troupe’s plans. Thank you for your interest.”

Rurik’s about to respond when the dancer arrives with quiet grace. Up close and without the benefit of a spotlight, he is less impressive. A few inches shorter than Viktor, with slicked-back black hair and brown eyes. Average. Off the stage his presence is bland, stiff as he comes to stand by Rurik. His ass is still fantastic, though. 

“Yuuri!” Rurik wraps a possessive hand around Yuuri’s bare waist, so he has Viktor on one arm and Yuuri on the other. “This is Viktor Nikiforov. Greet him properly, now.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nikiforov.” Yuuri bows his head, revealing the pale line of his neck.

“Charmed to meet you, Yuuri.” Viktor reaches out and brushes an almost-kiss against the back of Yuuri’s hand, for the show of it. It’s best that Rurik thinks he’s silly and fanciful.

“Yuuri here can dance almost as well as you, Viktor,” Rurik boasts. “I’ve already had a few friends ask if they can borrow him for the night.”

Rurik probably shares him out, too. Viktor looks at the companion with a small amount of pity. Any friend of Rurik’s is guaranteed to be unpleasant.

“I can see why,” Viktor says, tracing the outline of his phone through his pocket and considering faking an incoming message to expedite his escape. “The jewels--It’s like you have a galaxy on your back, Yuuri.”

Yuuri runs a hand through his hair, swiping back a few loose strands, and tilts his chin up to meet Viktor. “I’d like to show you a lot of things… on my back.”

His eyes are prettier up close, big and brown, beneath heavy black lashes. Ah. There’s the skills of a companion.

“Wow,” Viktor says.

“I was thinking, Viktor,” Rurik starts. “I know you’ve said that you’re not interested, but is there any way after your tour on Seran-“

“Unfortunately, Rurik, I prefer to be a free agent.” Viktor smiles and pulls out his phone. “Actually, we have to be heading out soon if we’re going to make it in time! Intersystem travel is such a timesuck, you know?”

Rurik looks disappointed but not surprised. “Of course, of course. Just know that my offer still stands!”

“Thank you so much for inviting us to your party. It was,” gold, he desperately wants to say, it was really gold, “charming. Good to see you again.”

“Always a pleasure to be around the greatest dancer of all time,” Rurik says, grabbing Viktor’s arm before he can fully turn away. “As a token of my affection, I would be honored if you would accept a gift from me before you leave.”

“Oh, that’s much too kind of you.” Viktor doesn’t want to be in this man’s debt at all. “You don’t need to give me anything.”

Rurik presses Yuuri forward into Viktor’s space. Yuuri looks down. 

“Please, I must insist. If you aren’t satisfied, you can give him back to me, or even sell his contract. He’s a dancer, you see, so I’m sure spending time with you would be most… instructive.” Rurik playfully slaps Yuuri’s plush ass.

Viktor’s eyebrows raise, both at the blatant insinuation and at how Yuuri’s bland expression doesn’t flicker. Companions trained in dance and with as much bodywork as Yuuri are definitely not cheap. People in that trade are licensed and choose their own contracts, so Viktor wonders just how down on his luck Yuuri had been to accept this one with Rurik, with the ability to be sold.

“If you’d like to try him out, there are a few private rooms--“ Rurik continues.

“There’s no need. You’ve convinced me. I’ll take him,” Viktor says, impulsive. Yuuri’s not on Viktor’s level but he’s no amateur dancer and shouldn’t be passed around like this. He could even prove a valuable and sparkly distraction as they pull of their gig at Seran, and his return to Rurik could camouflage a second deal if the moon colony needs more medicine. “On our tour at the very least. Thank you.”

“You won’t regret it, Viktor!” Rurik’s the kind of man who bribes his way into connections. He probably thinks he’s made quite a big one, but Viktor doesn’t intend to let him collect. 

Viktor wraps his hand around Yuuri’s upper arm and pull him to his side. “I really do have to be going, now!”

“Wonderful. Let’s just make this official, then,” Rurik says, smiling like a shark, prideful. “Yuuri, give me your hand.”

Yuuri’s hand is immediately offered.  
“Viktor, if I could have yours?” Rurik says. “I’m sure you understand how complicated companion laws are.”

Viktor offers his hand and suffers through Rurik pressing the pad of his index finger to an indent on Yuuri’s golden bracelet. There’s the faintest of pricks–a microdrop of blood sampled–and his biometric data is catalogued.

“Yuuri, you are now working for Viktor Nikiforov. Treat him with all the respect we talked about, understood?”

“Understood,” Yuuri answers.

This is new. Then again, Viktor has never had a companion’s exclusive contract before, just had a few arranged, casual, lovely excursions.

“Have fun!” Rurik says, as Viktor makes his thanks and goodbyes again. 

Yuuri stays close, quiet and blank, as Viktor exits the glittering party hall and into the nightcycle-dimmed hallway of the Mirimar space station. How to spin this for the others…?

Yura greets him at the airlock. “You’re late, old man. Why’d you bring a whore along?”

Outside of the glitz of the party, Yuuri’s insubstantial shorts stand out even more among the reasonably-dressed travelers in the space station corridor. Even without the companion bracelets, his job is easy to deduce. Yuuri doesn’t react.

“I got held up,” Viktor says, then gestures to Yuuri. “He’s a dancer who’s visiting from Rurik and I think it will help to have him along.”

“Viktor, what the fuck. This isn’t like you. We don’t have time for complications-“

“I know, I know. It’ll be okay. He’s coming with us.” Viktor’s tone allows no arguments as he herds them both through the airlock and into their ship. “Time’s a ’wasting, Yura.”

\-----

It’s Viktor. Viktor Nikiforov.

He looks every bit as beautiful as he did in the farewell performance Yuuri watched only a few months ago. A perfectly-proportioned face with kind, bright eyes, smart silver hair, and a confidence and poise befitting a star.

Yuuri’s had a serious crush on Viktor since he was twelve. Hell, his first, awkward orgasm came after watching a recording of 16-year-old Viktor on stage in black, formfitting starsilk, his long hair flowing in a banner behind him as he dipped and twirled.

Meeting like this—given over like a slave—leaves his dreams of one day dancing in the same troupe as Viktor ripped to shreds with the other plans he had for his life. Rurik told him to dance at his party, to seduce the whole room, and Yuuri didn’t have a choice but obedience.

Viktor leads him down the short corridors of the Nikiforov troupe’s ship. It’s surprisingly modest, with cool grays and blues throughout. They stop in front of a door at the end of the hall and enter into a room that is probably the biggest this size ship can offer. The first large open area is all rich brown hardwood flooring, very very expensive, and a floor to ceiling viewport of the starscape outside. This is where he dances, Yuuri thinks with certainty, and forgets his position for a moment in wonder. Viktor Nikiforov’s private practice room.

There’s a half-wall of separation and then a large bed, the sight of which brings Yuuri back to reality. Seduce him, Rurik had ordered. Get in his bed. Let him fuck you. Hell, fuck him! Make it good. He likes men. Suck his cock, make sure he’s satisfied. I want him to like you. Rurik had been very explicit about the myriad ways he was supposed to make himself available to Viktor, his new owner.

I’d like to show you a lot of things… on my back. He really said that, coerced as it may have been

“This is my room,” Viktor says breezily. “I’d love to give you your own space, but, well, the ship isn’t very big, and I imagine we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

Viktor’s not even looking at him, instead going over messages on his phone. Yuuri feels more like an object than a person, reminded of Rurik. Yuuri clenches his hands into fists. Since childhood, Viktor had been a dream to reach for, someone Yuuri aspired to meet one day, to dance on the same level with. Now he’s here to be his obedient, bedazzled whore; a decoration in this empty room.

“I have some things to take care of,” Viktor continues, finally looking up at him with a polite smile. “Stay in here while I explain things to the troupe, all right?”

Yuuri nods.

Viktor looks him up and down. “And get rid of that ridiculous outfit.”

It’s lucky Viktor turns to leave right after dropping that order, because Yuuri has no choice but to take off his shorts and dance belt and place them in the refuse hatch. Frustration reaching a boiling point, Yuuri stalks over to the closet inset in the wall and pulls out some of Viktor’s clothes. There aren’t as many different outfits as Yuuri expected there to be, but he selects a simple sweater that’s only a little too big in the shoulders and a pair of utilitarian athletic pants that have a tie so they can sinch at his hips. Viktor’s underwear drawer is filled with nothing but black bikini briefs, which Yuuri reluctantly puts on, telling the voice of his teenage self to calm down, this isn’t the time.

It feels good to be covered up, even in stolen clothing. A few of the gems peek out of the sweater, curling up his neck, but this is the closest Yuuri has come to feeling like himself since Rurik grabbed him a few weeks ago. He found a way around a direct order. Maybe he can do that again, with something bigger. 

There’s nothing to else to do. Viktor’s suite is minimalist. Yuuri tries the small entertainment console in the corner but is completely uninterested in any of the programs in the library. Clenching and unclenching his hands,Yuuri eyes the flat dance area in the center suite and decides to work out his frustration in the only way he really knows.

First, he stretches thoroughly, relieved at how the motion no longer pulls at the jewels in his back. There isn’t music, but that has never stopped Yuuri before. Calling up his most recent dance program in his mind’s eye, Yuuri closes his eyes and moves full-speed into the opening sequence. It opens with a quick step sequence and transitions between floor poses and rolls at a speed that has awarded him a lot of difficulty points in competitions.

After running through the full sequence three times, sweat dripping down his face and back, Yuuri doesn’t feel an ounce more calm.

Viktor comes back before he can start something else.

“Wow! Amazing!” Viktor says, startling Yuuri out of his ending pose. “I didn’t know you were that much of a fan, Yuuri.” Viktor’s eyes sparkle and he puts a finger to his lip. Yuuri flushes to the tips of his ears, Viktor obviously having noticed exactly what inspired Yuuri’s performance. There are dark circles under Viktor’s eyes, but all of his attention is fixed on Yuuri. God, he’s dreamed of Viktor’s eyes on him so many times. Just not like this. A wave of the frustration flows over him.

Spine straight, Yuuri asks, “May I go take a shower?”

“By all means,” Viktor says, gesturing to the bathroom. “Would you like some of my pajamas, too?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, tilting his chin up. “I would.”

“Anything you like, Yuuri.”

Yuuri gets into the steaming spray of the shower and clutches his cheeks, mortified and delighted at the same time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **There is a scene is this chapter tagged as "dubious consent," but in some ways this scene could be considered non-con because of Yuuri's situation. Please take care to avoid content that may be personally triggering to you.**
> 
> _Note about Companions_  
>  Companions are a regulated industry. The bracelets they wear exist so that contracts can be tracked and companions will not be abused. They monitor location and health, and can be used by a companion to get help from their guild should they be put in a situation they don't agree with. That is the reason that Viktor had to provide a drop of his blood; if something were to happen to the companion he's working with, the guild and authorities would be on his tail immediately. 
> 
> Yuuri does not have real companion bracelets, however. They are realistic fakes that Rurik purchased. The command chip is the technology that forces obedience, and it is highly, highly illegal.

The Aria isn’t a big ship, so when Viktor, Mila, Yuri, and Georgi (via intercom, because someone has to be in the ship operations room) sit down, it’s in their small kitchen/dining room.

“There’s no need to get so flustered. Yuuri will be joining us for our performance in Seran. That’s it.” Viktor says, matter-of-fact.

“You’re a fool, Viktor Nikiforov. None of this makes any sense.” Yuri slouches in the chair opposite.

“Which part?” Viktor knew this would be a tough sell, but not _this_ tough. 

“You’ve seen him. Why the hell would Rurik want to give _that_ to _you_?” Yuuri points his fork at Viktor for emphasis. He’s taking the time to eat dinner as they discuss.

“It isn’t polite to refuse a gift from your fans, Yuri.” 

“This isn’t just a gift from your–” Yuri’s voice raises. He sulkily shoves his plate away and tucks his arms behind his head.

“You like that cat your fans gave you just fine.” Georgi points out, voice cracking over the intercom.

“Potya is different. And badass. Rurik just gave you a person. An expensive person.” Yuri says.

“He’s here to train, that’s all.” Viktor sets down his empty coffee cup. What he’s said isn’t entirely truth, but what happens with their troupe leader and a companion behind closed doors is private.

“Where’s he sleeping then, huh?” Ouch, but Yuri is sharp.

“Now, now, now… come on you two, calm down.” Mila says, buttering her toast.

“See? Mila understands, Yuri.”

“I understand that you’re thinking with your dick, Viktor.” Mila says, and Viktor moves her from the “on my side” column to the much longer “not yet on my side” column in his calculations.

 _“Mila.”_ Viktor puts a hand to his chest. 

“This is suspicious as hell.” Yuri says, stubborn.

Viktor thinks of the way Yuuri moved in his room, liquid and sparkling like the starscape behind him. “This is my ship and this is my troupe. This meeting is just me letting you know the plan. He stays, that’s it.” Viktor gets up to leave. Cooperation is not and never will be his strong point. 

“What if he slits your throat in your sleep? I know you didn’t let a pretty thing like that sleep on the couch. Those shorts did not leave much to the imagination,” Mila reasonably points out.

“You obviously don’t know a lot about companions, Mila. He’s wearing official bracelets, he’s licensed, he’s safe. He’s very good at dancing and with my coaching he can be incredible. End of discussion.” Viktor’s had experience with a few companions in the past, all positive. That type of company suits his lifestyle well: no attachments, boundaries clearly laid out.

“We’re not exactly a normal dance troupe either. Unless you’ve forgotten what’s in the hold _right now?_ ” Mila takes a delicate bite of her toast and watches Viktor’s face.

“Companions don’t betray their owner’s secrets,” Viktor says. “They’re a respectable trade.”

“Oh, so you have a slave now?” Yuri says, biting.

“It’s an industry term, which I wouldn’t expect a child like you to know.” Viktor says over his shoulder, just before the door slides shut. Yes, that was childish, but Viktor isn’t above childish when it’s an option.

Yuri and Mila both sigh.

“This isn’t like him, finding someone he wants to protect. It’s a bad idea. When this all goes to shit, remember: I told you so.” Yuri says.

Mila eyes the door Viktor just exited through. “Mmmm.”

\---

If there’s one thing Viktor’s learned from his time with companions, it’s that they don’t put a lot of stock in modesty. Their bodies and skills are their trade. With this knowledge, Viktor doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad walking into the bathroom while Yuuri showers.

He gets one glance of smooth, pale skin, of wet black hair dripping water above wide brown eyes, before Yuuri makes a shocked sound and turns. Viktor’s shower has floor-to-ceiling, steam-proof glass. Viktor raises an eyebrow and takes in the new view, a galaxy of jewels over a muscled back, water running from each sparkling point and down over a toned ass and thighs.

“You’re shy for a companion,” Viktor says.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Yuuri says, something stifled in his voice.

“Don’t mind me,” Viktor says. “Just bringing you something to sleep in.”

He holds up a pair of his own bikini briefs, black and silky between two fingers. “I actually sleep nude,” he continues, “so there aren’t any pajamas for you to borrow. These will hopefully work, since you’re so shy.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri says to the wall.

Yuuri’s so _interesting_. Viktor leans against the counter to see what he’ll do next and enjoy the scenery.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Viktor says, feeling the stirrings of desire beneath his skin. It’s been a while, and Yuuri is beautiful, available, and by his very nature, willing.

Mila’s right, he is thinking with his dick.

Yuuri takes in a deep breath, which Viktor sees heave his whole chest, and then turns and reaches for a sponge, revealing his front to Viktor’s eyes. He’s slim but powerfully muscled, young and supple, with nipples a dusky rose pink on skin flushed red from the spray. Yuuri’s soft cock sits bare between his thighs, no pubic hair in sight, no hair anywhere but his head. It’s more popular with women, those laser skin treatments that inhibit hair growth, but either Yuuri’s had it done too or he shaves extensively. His other body mods point to the latter.

Viktor feels himself getting a little hard. It’s _really_ been a while. He’s a pervert, watching a companion rub soap over himself, but, well, he’s been called worse things.

It might be the heat of the shower, but Viktor swears there’s a distinct blush to Yuuri’s cheeks, and that only adds to his interest.

“Maybe don’t put those underwear on when you’re done, Yuuri.” Viktor says. “I think we should get to know each other a little better first.”

Yuuri’s hand clenches briefly in the sponge he’s holding, causing a burst of suds.

“All right,” Yuuri says. 

\-----

Viktor retreated to the bedroom when the shower spray shut off, so Yuuri takes a moment while drying off to try and do anything to calm the jittery panic in his blood.

It doesn’t help.

The cage of Rurik’s commands is tightening, strangling him. _Get in his bed. Let him fuck you. I want him to like you._

There is no doubt, after the way Viktor’s blue eyes traced the shape of his body in the shower, where things are going.

He comes out to see Viktor watching the starscape, the tiny lights illuminating his perfect face beautifully. Viktor’s wearing only a pair of black bikini briefs and Yuuri’s eyes are drawn to the ‘v’ of his hips.

“There you are!” Viktor says, smiling, looking at Yuuri from head to toe with a heavy gaze.

Yuuri’s naked, as ordered. Viktor’s gaze feels like a physical touch, caressing. Yuuri needs to find a way to shift his attention, get this over with. 

Without preamble, he walks closer and sinks to his knees before Viktor. Before he can lose his courage or think too deeply of what’s happening, he’s leaning forward, mouthing softly at Viktor’s clothed cock, gripping Viktor’s hips and pressing his thumbs into the skin just above the fabric.

“Wow, Yuuri,” Viktor says, breathy. 

Yuuri’s never actually done this before, but he’s been exposed to quite a lot of pornography. He tries his best, tracing the outline of Viktor’s cock with his tongue, rubbing his cheek against where Viktor’s hardening with interest.

“Did Rurik have you do this often?” Viktor hums, pressing his hips a little forward against Yuuri’s lips. Even if Yuuri wasn’t forbidden from talking about his time with Rurik, this is a subject he does not want to discuss, not with anyone, especially not Viktor.

Instead of answering, he pulls down Viktor’s briefs, freeing his sizeable erection. Viktor’s silver pubic hair is trimmed close, neat, and his cock smells musky, masculine. Viktor hasn’t taken a shower yet. 

Taking the base in both hands, Yuuri starts to suck at the tip, tasting skin and salt. Viktor laces his fingers through Yuuri’s dark hair, tugging at the strands, pulling at his scalp.

Yuuri swallows his pride as he swallows down Viktor’s cock, trying to fit as much of it in his mouth as he can despite his inexperience. When it brushes the back of his throat he gags, sharp and sudden, but Viktor doesn’t seem to notice. Yuuri looks up to see that Viktor’s eyes are shut in pleasure, silver eyelashes exquisite over perfectly-sculpted cheeks.

Shame hits him then, deep and aching, and he’s choking on something else, fighting tears. 

Desire or not, the chip’s control is absolute. Yuuri uses the flat of his tongue to stroke the bottom of Viktor’s length, and it’s almost a relief when Viktor grips his head more firmly and begins thrusting shallowly into his mouth, holding his head in place by his hair.

“You’re great at this, Yuuri,” Viktor says. Yuuri keeps his eyes shut, tries to take Viktor in deeper, tries to turn off the roaring static overtaking his mind.

Despite it all, his traitorous body enjoys this. Yuuri’s hard, desperately so, at the wet sounds of Viktor fucking into his mouth, at the little bits of drool running down his chin.

The only warning before Viktor’s thick come fills his mouth is a hitch in Viktor’s breathing, a tightening of his hand in Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri chokes but manages to swallow, still sucking at his cock through the last drops of his orgasm, remembering _make him feel good, make him like you._

Yuuri feels used. Wrecked. Still furiously turned on.

Gentle hands pull him up, so he’s standing on shaky legs with sore knees. 

Yuuri opens his eyes. Viktor’s smiling, cheeks flushed with pleasure.

“Lovely, Yuuri, thank you,” Viktor says, wiping some of the mess from the side of Yuuri’s lip with his thumb. “Now let’s take care of you,” he continues, reaching for Yuuri’s companion bracelets.

Oh.

This part he hadn’t factored in.

Viktor turns him so he’s facing the starfield, then gently guides Yuuri’s arms out so they’re spread wide and open. He presses a small indent in the cuffs and they lock in place, suspended in midair. Yuuri didn’t know this function of companion bracelets, but apparently Viktor has experience with them. Yuuri tugs his wrists side to side, but they don’t budge, supporting his weight.

Spread like this against the barrier, Yuuri can see Viktor’s reflection behind him in the low light as Viktor walks to the bedroom and returns moments later, pressing up behind him, the warmth of his front against Yuuri’s back. Viktor runs his hand over Yuuri’s sides and over his chest, and Yuuri shivers with uncertainty and arousal.

“I thought you might like to look at the stars.” Viktor’s voice is warm against his ear. “Since your back looks so much like them.”

The press of Viktor’s palm flat of over the muscles of his belly does something to Yuuri, stokes a flame inside of him. Viktor reaches around with his other hand to grip Yuuri’s erection, and his touch is slick, wet; he must of gotten lube from the other room.

Viktor starts to stroke him off and Yuuri bites down hard on his lower lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound. 

Viktor doesn’t miss it. “It’s okay,” he laughs, and Yuuri feels the vibrations from it through the press of their bodies. “Let me hear you, Yuuri. Don’t hold it in.”

Yuuri lets out a choked moan, then another, and it’s mortifying, the sound of his voice echoing through the cabin as Viktor strokes him faster.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” Viktor says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Yuuri pushes forward into Viktor’s hand in time, the tight feel of his fingers around Yuuri’s cock driving him closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Come for me,” Viktor says, against his ear, and Yuuri’s orgasm is ripped out of him with a shout, white spurts of ejaculate shooting out over the viewscreen before them. Viktor milks him through it.

Yuuri wants to sink into a hole and die. He wants to leap into the vacuum of space, he’s so embarrassed, so ashamed.

His bracelets make a soft, metallic click as Viktor disengages them. Yuuri’s body feels heavy, his arms just slightly sore as he shakes them a little.

There’s still a visible comestain on the viewport, blurring the stars.

Viktor hands Yuuri and pair of underwear with a smile and then wipes the stain with a damp cloth.

Overwhelmed, Yuuri shuffles to the bedroom and puts on the insubstantial underwear as Viktor heads into the bathroom for his own shower.

At least it was just my mouth, he thinks. It could have been worse. Viktor seemed to enjoy it, and parts of Yuuri certainly did, but the lack of control has him edgy, anxious, and shaken. Ashamed.

After what seems like mere moments, Viktor emerges from the shower with damp hair and underwear, yawning.

“You’re still up?” He asks, pulling back the blankets of his bed and patting the space next to himself. “Come on, lay down. There’s plenty of room.”

Yuuri slides into bed beside him, stiff and awkward, his back to Viktor as the blankets are pulled up and tucked around them both.

Viktor drapes a lazy arm around his middle. “Relax, Yuuri.”

His tension is snuffed out like a candle. Yuuri goes limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. Even his emotions turn down, neurochemistry adjusting to obey the chip, just like the rest of him.

He’s asleep in moments.

\--

There’s a rhythm to life on their ship, while they’re in transit. Seran is about a week’s journey away and despite what they have hidden behind a false wall in their hold, dance is the real reason the Nikiforov Troupe travels.

Each of them have an individual performance, of course. Right now Mila and Yuri have a paired routine, involving a lot of clever lifts that make excellent use of Yuri’s smaller frame and Mila’s strength. Georgi had a paired routine as well, until a recent and messy break-up with his partner Anya. His hastily-modified singles routine takes up all his practice hours, and Viktor can admit it’s left a bit of a gap in their show.

If he can dance with half as much skill as he did with Rurik, Yuuri will fill that spot quite nicely. 

Viktor choreographs all his routines and commissions all his own music. Sometimes it feels like dance is the only real way he has to communicate, so it’s easy for him to spend the morning and early afternoon practicing his latest routine again and again, until it’s technically flawless but frustratingly unsatisfying. 

Viktor had briefly considered and then completely dismissed a pair routine of his own. Yes, it would surprise his audience, but syncing up with an upset Georgi is a recipe for disaster.

It’s nearing dinner by the time he gets to his room, contemplating their performance as a whole, and Viktor lets out a little gasp of surprise to see Yuuri in his room, dancing familiar choreography. Viktor’s own routine, performed without music almost flawlessly. He’s more than a little dumbstruck.

“Hello, Yuuri!”

Yuuri stops mid-pose, lips forming into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Hello.”

“Did you have a good day?”

Yuuri glances around the room, and then back to Viktor. “Mmmm.”

Has he been here all day? Viktor wonders, then realizes he never told Yuuri it was okay to wander the ship. 

“Would you like to come to dinner?” Viktor asks, grasping at straws, trying to cover up for being so neglectful. Yuuri is closed-off, cold. What a strange companion, alternating between standoffish and hot without moderation.

“I’d love to.” Yuuri agrees.

It’s only when they’re at the small kitchen area down the hall, ladling bowls from the communal soup pot (Georgi had cook duty tonight), that Viktor stops to wonder.

“Did you eat anything today?”

“No.” Yuuri grabs a spoon and sits down at the table, back straight.

“Sorry about that.” VIktor has a troupe, but he’s not very experienced caring for people other than himself. His poodle*, yes, but not other humans. Mila was right when she said that this isn’t like him.

They eat in silence. It isn’t until their bowls are nearly empty that Yuuri says, quietly, “Thank you.”

What an odd mix of a person, this shy companion.

“It’s no problem. We trade off on cooking meals here, it’s a small ship.” Obviously, Viktor you idiot. Obviously.

“Mmmm.” A bowl of soup isn’t enough for an entire day’s calories. Viktor bets Yuuri had been practicing his routines today, in his room, if they’re anything alike. 

“You should eat seconds.” Viktor’s eyebrows raise as Yuuri immediately gets up to obey his suggestion.

This next bowl Yuuri eats mechanically. VIktor searches for a new topic of discussion. “So I can tell from your dancing that you’re a fan. Tell me what you know of our performances.”

“I’ve been watching you perform since I was 12,” Yuuri says, then looks mortified. Embarrassed at his honesty, perhaps? Viktor’s more than a little flattered. 

“Hahaha, would you like a commemorative photo before you go back?” Viktor’s teases.

Yuuri’s shoulders hunch in, close off. He doesn’t say anything. 

Viktor collects both their dishes and leaves them in the cleaner, just for something to do. He’s absurdly glad that the others aren’t around eating at the same time, so he can hide this awkwardness. Viktor’s always been gifted with a certain natural charisma that lets him perform in the way his audience expects, but it is decidedly not working on Yuuri. 

“So why did you decide to be a companion, Yuuri?” Viktor asks.

That’s the wrong thing to say. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

Viktor winces. People don’t generally become companions as a first choice. How far can he put his foot in his mouth? “Ah, well then, let’s talk about me. My first performance-”

“I know.” Yuuri says abruptly, then flushes. 

“So you are a fan.” Viktor presses a finger to his bottom lip. “I saw you practicing my routine.”

“No comment.”

“It was very beautiful, Yuuri,” Viktor says, voice honey and sweet. “Very erotic. Not many people can pull it off. If you can dance like that, what was that performance at Rurik’s about?”

Yuuri shifts uncomfortably.

“If you can move like that with the music, like you are the music, you could make your way anywhere at all, no companion bracelets needed.”

Most fans would take the compliment with some gratitude, Viktor thinks. Yuuri just sits there, shoulders curled in, like Viktor’s just stolen something from him. What is going on?

“Well, from here on out, I’ll be your coach, Yuuri. Gladly. We have a hole in our show after an unfortunate Georgi-related incident, and I think you’re just the person to fill it.”

Viktor’s had a lot of would-be apprentices over the years. He’s turned down every single one. Viktor finds himself drawn to Yuuri in a way he’s never been drawn to anyone else before. He finds himself thinking, _I really want to dance with him_.

Yuuri looks him in the eye for the first time all night. His eyes are brown, but Viktor wonders how he ever saw them as average, for surely there’s starlight shining from within, in the sparkle of his eyes. “I want to dance with you,” he says.

Viktor’s heart soars.

\----

The next day, he takes Yuuri with him to morning practice. Yuuri looks smaller than he is in Viktor’s borrowed leggings and shirt. They’ll have to see what’s in storage so Yuuri will look presentable at their next stop, but Viktor finds himself staring at Yuuri out of the corner of his eye often, oddly pleased about how he looks in Viktor’s attire.

Maybe they can get him some sort of long-sleeved leotard with thumbholes. Ahhh, but that would hide the beautiful stars on his back. Perhaps gloves? Anything to cover up the companion bracelets on his thin wrists, which look so incongruous from everything Viktor knows about Yuuri.

Viktor has Yuuri run through the routine he performed at Rurik’s, again and again, and is thoroughly disappointed at how stiff it is. Viktor never sugarcoats his critique, but Yuuri takes each comment and suggestion seriously, abiet with a frustrated crease between his eyebrows.

He has Yuuri dance until way past when Viktor himself could have, quietly impressed by his stamina. It isn’t until Yuuri gets frustrated and starts to run through his routine on his own that Viktor catches on.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says.

“What?” Yuuri asks, frozen mid-pose.

“You’re dancing differently right now. What’s changed?” Viktor has a theory.

Yuuri shuffles his foot impatiently and smooths back his bangs. “Nothing’s changed.”

“The other times I’ve _told_ you to dance. When you decide to dance on your own, everything’s different.” Viktor walks closer, tilts up Yuuri’s chin so they’re face-to-face. 

He feels Yuuri’s nod. Ah, so Yuuri’s aware of it. Interesting.

Sometimes it’s exhausting, the weight of performing to other people’s expectations. Viktor finds himself enraptured by the understanding he sees in Yuuri’s eyes. 

“Let’s try again, Yuuri. If you’d like,” Viktor says. “Start when you’re ready.”

When Yuuri begins to dance this time, it’s much better. Smooth, with defined footwork, an easy flow between each element. The shape of it is music in motion, it’s the applause after a perfect show, it’s a starfield in warp flight, beautiful.

“That’s the best I’ve seen it.” Viktor says, clapping. And then, because he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to, “But what were you thinking about the final pose? And your hips were in the wrong place on that final turn, I’m surprised you didn’t hurt yourself. Who taught you to spread your fingers so wide? They look like a rake.”

\----

That night, they get ready for bed in companionable silence, worn out from the day. Yuuri’s afraid that he might be asked to perform the duties of a companion again, and he steels himself for it, but Viktor just gets under the blankets and holds them open for Yuuri.

“You smell nice,” Viktor says, half-curled around him. His silver hair is fanned out over the pillows, and Yuuri can see the perfect curve of his cheekbone and feel his steady breathing through where they’re pressed together.

He doesn’t know where his heart is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor's going to be very broken up about this once he learns the real situation. Sorry, buddy D:
> 
> *It isn't covered in-text, but Makkachin is with Yakov and Lilia at the moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the amazing Nye for help with space names. Her space fic gives me life, please check out [Celestial Gravitation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025501/chapters/24571959) and scream with me about how great it is.

Since childhood, the dream had been: when you’re good enough, you can meet Viktor, dance on the same level, perform _better_ than Viktor, surprise him, wake him up. Something to hold on to, when he wasn’t satisfied with his own life, his own planet, his own skills. After looking out at the whole universe, he’d settled on this star, pinned his hopes on its glimmer.

And here Viktor is! Real, blinding, more beautiful than even a dream could paint.

So close and yet so far from what he wanted.

Viktor stops telling him when to start and stop his routines, rightly judging that Yuuri dances best at his own pace. After that first day, he’s sure to bring Yuuri along for each meal, sharing a table with the whole troupe. They’re friendly, but distant.

After those first few days, though, the way Viktor treats Yuuri has changed. He really likes to _touch_ Yuuri, a hand on his arm or wrapped around his shoulders. Is it because they’ve been intimate? Viktor is used to companions, and that’s what Yuuri is to him, especially now that they’ve been together.

They spent the day as a large group running through their entire performance, crowding in the main hold that’s filled with crates, splitting off after each rehearsal to improve minute details, mostly self-directed. Mila and Yuri make an impressive paired performance, appearing to be of one mind through lifts and turns, but as soon as the music ends and the recording is reviewed the criticism comes out, pointed and sharp. Yuuri realizes this is probably why they are so good. They hold each other accountable for every underangle and overextension.

Mila, Yuri, and Georgi are powerhouses in their own right, as well. Viktor seems to pick people who can embody emotion well, and embody it they do. Mila dances quick and spritely, burning with fire and life. Yuri uses his small frame to channel fierce energy, and no small amount of teenage edginess. Georgi’s new performance, after the loss of his beloved dance partner, speaks of loss and longing, almost too much, thick with drama.

The _Aria_ has moved into a safe commercial corridor, so the troupe feels confident enough dance together and to eat together at the table and let the ship’s autopilot do its job.

Tonight’s dinner is a stew made by Yuri, who is a surprisingly good cook, full of green cabbage and studded with carrots and potatoes. Yuuri still feels very awkward, nearly brushing elbows with both Georgi and Viktor at the table.

Yuuri grew up in a household that equated food with comfort, and he can definitely use some comfort right now, so he lets the troupe’s conversation wash over him as he bites into a warm roll.

“You’re pushing yourself too far, Yura. A labral tear is no joke,” Viktor is lecturing. “Do you want end your career early? Because that’s the way to do it.”

“I know what I’m capable of, old man. Just because your ancient body can’t take the strain doesn’t mean I have to give in.” Yuri puffs up like a little cat, frustrated.

“I can pull into a scorpion* just fine, and that’s because I didn’t _push_ it when I was younger. Is it so hard to just listen to my advice?” VIktor’s tone is still mild.

“He has a point, Yura, it’s not worth the risk,” Mila chimes in. “Just because Otabek said it was impressive doesn’t mean you have to overextend yourself to the end of your career.”

“This isn’t because of anything Beka said, hag.” Yuri tucks his hair behind his ears and slouches further. He’s such a graceful dancer with impressive posture, so it must take effort to slouch the way he does. Spite is a great motivator.

It’s times like this that Yuuri wonders what kind of game Rurik is playing, abducting him, planting him here on this ship to watch the troupe squabble and be a pretty toy for Viktor. What does Rurik have to gain? Is Yuuri planted as a spy? If so, why? The only confidential information Yuuri’s been able to learn is which performances are planned for Seran, and those aren’t life-or-death secrets.

Yuuri takes his first spoonful of the cabbage soup. “This is delicious, Yuri,” he says, mild, diffusing.

Yuri glances his way and then back to his bowl, like he can’t stand to look at Yuuri for too long.

“It’s my grandpa’s recipe.”

Yuuri takes another spoonful; the soup is a little sour, but in a good way. The entire troupe is digging in, and Yuuri’s mind is circling back to Rurik already, so when he feels his throat getting a little tight it feels like nothing more than a memory, unwillingly recalled.

It really _is_ becoming harder to breathe, though. Yuuri’s mind alights with a new panic.

“Ah, Yuri, is there _erasin_ in this?” Stay calm, stay calm, he repeats in his mind.

“Yes.” Yuri glances back at him, then frowns. “What’s wrong with your face?”

“I’m very allergic,” Yuuri says, starting to wheeze a little. Erasin, god. The seldom-used additive even rarer now than it had been during Yuuri’s childhood–it’s meant to keep vegetables crisp during long cook times, a stabilizer of sort from a different era of spaceflight when it was much more efficient to bring precooked foods than try to create them onboard. It’s not a control chip that’s causing his air to be cut off, not this time, and nothing will cut in to save him at the last second.

“I’ll get the medkit,” Mila says, already getting up and hurrying towards the door. “Don’t worry!”

The edges of Yuuri’s vision are going black, just a little, and he’s not sure if it’s lack of oxygen or just pure panic. It’s stupid, too, because any medkit will have a remedy; Mila will be back with it soon.

Viktor kneels down by his chair, looking like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, while Yuri and Georgi hover worriedly. It reminds him vividly of being young, of Mari’s panic the first time his had happened, when he was very small. Erasin is not a common food allergy by any means, and it’s used so rarely in modern cooking that it doesn’t have an allergy removal treatment like other allergens do.

“It will be okay!” Viktor works his lips into a smile that he probably thinks is comforting. Yuuri focuses on the blue of his eyes, trying to breathe: slowly in, slowly out, like through a straw. “Mila will be right back. We’ll get you a hypospray and everything will be good as new.”

Every basic medkit will have a treatment. There’s no reason to panic like this, Yuuri knows, but that’s never been a reason to keep Yuuri from doing so. Still, it’s a long, heart-pounding minute until Mila returns, and the painless press of the standard “cure-all” hypospray into his neck could not be more welcome.

As soon as he’s breathing normally again, Yuuri gets up to leave, furious to be alone and hoping that Viktor won’t say anything to make him stay. There’s no reason for him to get so upset. Viktor looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Are you okay?” Yuri asks, face milky pale.

“Yes,” Yuuri says firmly. “I’m fine. I’ll be- I’ll be in my room.”

He’s dizzy, but manages to stumble to Viktor’s quarters, head held high, back straight. Most things he does on this ship are embarrassing, but he cannot take pity, that’s the worst.

* * *

Seeing Yuuri fight to breathe is hands down one of the scariest things Viktor’s experienced. Viktor, a man of few true connections, feels something different about Yuuri, something deep.

So when he returns to his cabin, thoughtful and carrying a sandwich containing 0% erasin (he checked), he isn’t prepared for what he sees.

There’s music, loud and pulsing, and Yuuri, who he’d assumed would be laying down, laughing as he dances across the room in a familiar routine. An _old_ routine, from when Viktor had been 16 and struck by teenage edginess and exploring his new, adult desires.

He sets down the sandwich on the table in the entryway. “Yuuri!”

“Viktor!” Yuuri says, sliding fluidly from a pose that had his leg behind his head to a lunge, facing Viktor, grinning, eyes bright.

He looks _drunk_.

“Are you, ah, feeling better?” Viktor asks, trying to keep his eyes on Yuuri’s face and not on the expanse of pale chest peeking out from his unbuttoned shirt. Now is not the time to be thinking with his dick.

“Yes,” Yuuri says, drifting closer. His hair is a mess, and Viktor reaches out to smooth it back over his forehead, like it had been the night they met. “So much better!”

“I’m glad,” Viktor says, smiling wide. This must be a side-effect of the hypo, which is designed to cure a number of ailments all at once and can overload some people’s systems. He’s heard of it happening before, people appearing drunk after receiving a stim. “I brought you a sandwich,” he adds.

“I _never_ want to eat _again_ ,” Yuuri says, confidently poking Viktor in the chest. “ _Never again_.”

“Oh?” Viktor can’t help but laugh.

“No more food,” Yuuri says.

“All right,” Viktor concedes. “So what _would_ you like to do?”

The music is still blaring from the room’s speakers, loud and fast, a frantic piece of piano and violin.

“Do you know?” Yuuri asks, ignoring his question. “I tried to cut my hair this morning, because it’s getting too long, but I can’t.”

Viktor rolls with it. “Something wrong with the scissors?” Viktor has all the best grooming tools in the bathroom.

“No,” Yuuri huffs. “No.”

He’s cute. “Then why can’t you?”

“I can’t,” Yuuri says, irritated. He has a little crease between his eyebrows. He’s _really_ cute.

“Would you like me to trim if for you?” VIktor offers. He’s never done it, but how hard could it be?

Yuuri’s not looking at him, now, he’s looking at the stars out the viewport. “No. I want to trim it myself. I’ll figure out how.”

“Of course,” Viktor says. Yuuri looks a little wobbly so Viktor tries to guide him to a chair, gently grabbing an elbow and tugging him across the room.

Yuuri reaches down and grabs Viktor’s other hand, lacing their fingers together. “Let’s dance!” He says, and Viktor is struck by how bright his eyes are, how well their hands fit next to each other.

“O-okay!” Viktor agrees, but Yuuri’s already leading him around the room in a quick tango, taking the lead, pulling Viktor into an over exaggerated dip. A startled laugh bubbles out of his chest, and then another, because dancing like this with Yuuri is an absolute delight. When was the last time he danced with someone, just for fun?

Viktor takes the lead, his hand sliding easily from Yuuri’s elbow to the small of his back. They cross the room, step by step, in sync, sharing the lead equally, as the music swells around them. Yuuri’s a very coordinated drunk.

When they finally part, Viktor’s breathing hard and smiling so much his face aches from it.

“That’s more like it,” Yuuri declares, speech a little slurred.

“More like what?” Viktor’s voice comes out soft.

Yuuri leans in, rests his face on Viktor’s shoulder. He’s warm, and Viktor is distracted by the soft tufts of his hair against his neck. He smells like Viktor’s shampoo. He’d like to have sex with Yuuri again, explore his body more thoroughly, take time with him. Let Yuuri do the same back.

This is more intimate than all the time’s Viktor’s ever had sex, to be completely honest. He can feel Yuuri’s breath. Rationally, Viktor knows that Yuuri is a companion, that he’s only doing his job. This has never been a problem with any of his other partners. He’s never wanted to get closer.

“This is how I wanted it to go,” Yuuri says, muffled.

VIktor doesn’t understand quite what he’s trying to say, but it’s late. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No,” Yuuri says, despite the fact that his eyes are half-closed and he’s resting most of his weight on Viktor.

“Okay, well. I’m tired.” Viktor says. He pulls Yuuri towards the bed. It’s been a long, stressful day, and they could both use a shower, but that’s best left for tomorrow. “Lay down with me?”

Once Yuuri’s sitting on the blankets, Viktor takes off his own shirt and pants and sets them in the cleaner. “Do you want to sleep in that?” He asks.

Yuuri’s flopped over, head on a pillow but feet still dangling off the side of the bed. “Mmmm.”

This is the third night they’ve slept together and the most clothes they’ve ever worn while doing so, so Viktor doesn’t know why his heart is beating so loud or why he feels so achingly fond.

“C’mon, Yuuri, under the blankets,” he coaxes. Yuuri does what he’s told, and Viktor turns off the lights.

It’s barely after dinner. Viktor doesn’t fall asleep for a few more hours.

What has he gotten himself into?

* * *

The ship is much too small, but stealth has been prioritized over substance in this one aspect of Rurik’s life. He’s hired two mercenaries, top of the field and easily persuaded to keep quiet when presented with large sums of money.

“How much longer until we arrive?”

“Three days, sir.” The mercenary’s bland expression doesn’t flicker. He’s been paid enough to be pleasant throughout the entire trip.

“Can you pull up the feed again?”

“We’re experiencing some disruptions at this distance in this area of space. I’ll work to restore it as soon as possible.”

“Good.” It’s a shame the chip can’t tap into the dancer’s visual cortex, but the drain on his system would be so severe the boy would probably spend all his time sleeping.

At least it appears Viktor’s been using his new toy and is quite fond of it.

The feed of Yuuri’s biodata had shown a short but alarming spike a few hours ago, then cut out all together. Rurik had kept calm throughout, because it doesn’t go to show weakness in front of mercenaries of all people, but when he’d taken a brief dinner break in his room he’d broken three plates with a satisfying crash on the floor, then had his cleanerbot remove all traces of the mess. When he’d returned from his meal the biodata returned as well, steady and green.

Rurik has a lot invested in this venture, and at the heart of it lies the dancer.

Pretty, quiet, useful; Rurik thinks he’ll let Viktor keep him, once it’s all over. The body mods were expensive and the delicate command chip could have bought Rurik another spaceship or two. He’d love to pop it out and use it again for Viktor, even if it has the unfortunate side effect of killing the original host, but they’re one-time-use, tied to a specific brain chemistry. Perhaps Viktor would look good with the gems as well; a matched set is appealing.

Wealth attracts friends, friends attract business, business leads to more wealth. At each stage, he’s a little more in control of his corner of the universe.

Now he just has to wait. Three more days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erasin is a real protein! For the purposes of this fic, it’s also the name of a space preservative. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the quick beta, Auri! <3

Arleon isn’t a huge station by any means, but it’s a small stopping point on a commercial route with a station owner who’s very interested in dance. When he’d heard the Nikiforov troupe was coming to this sector, he’d made sure it was very lucrative for Viktor’s ship to stop there. 

It’s only been a few days, nowhere near long enough to choreograph and perfect a new routine, but with an old one as a base Yuuri is ready for his debut with the troupe. Except for his outfit.

Viktor’s mentioned, in interviews that Yuuri obsessively watched, that he enjoys shopping when he gets a chance. Yuuri was unprepared for the real deal. The station is _tiny_ but still Viktor has managed to buy an impressive amount of things. Yuuri’s thankful they don’t have to carry it all back to the ship and the items are all boxed and delivered automatically.

This is the largest crowd of people Yuuri’s been in since he was taken, and he’s extremely glad that his command chip is only attuned to Viktor. If not, all the shopkeepers’ entreaties of “Come on in and look around!” would have left him trapped. And bankrupt too, if he had any money to begin with.

Viktor’s arm is warm around his shoulder as they navigate through the crowd. The station is almost at capacity as everyone in the system has made their way here in anticipation of the Nikiforov performance. Viktor’s disguise, a hat and sunglass, should not be as effective as it is. _What’s the point of sunglasses on a space station?_ Yuuri had wondered aloud. Viktor just winked in response.

They’re looking for Yuuri’s performance outfit and not having much luck.

“We’re going to have to get something off-rack,” Viktor says, mournful. 

All of Yuuri’s costumes previously have come non-custom, and that was expensive enough.

“Let’s just stick with something simple,” Yuuri says. The thing he’s least concerned about tonight is the outfit; he’s dreamed of performing with Viktor since childhood. 

They try to find something suitable in a swimwear store, which is themed to resemble the bluish-purple ocean of a nearby and popular resort planet. Unfortunately, all the one-piece suits have space in them to support breasts, which Yuuri definitely doesn’t have.

The show’s only a few hours away. People are taking not-so-subtle photos of VIktor with their phones.

Another thought drops in his head, heavy. Viktor’s a celebrity. What if photos of Yuuri get out? What if his parents see, recognise? They probably think he’s dead, with the way Rurik set things up. If they get suspicious, what would Rurik do to them....? 

Rurik isn’t stupid. The Nikiforov troupe is bound to get photographed. What is he playing at? 

Yuuri tugs Viktor into the nearest shop, which is dark and looks like it’s for moody teenagers.

Viktor grabs an atrocious hat off a nearby rack--purple with holographic spikes--and sets it lightly on Yuuri’s head, laughing and reaching for his phone. “Yuuri, do you like surprising people as much as I do?”

Yuuri rips it off his head before Viktor can line up the shot and upload it to the net.

“We’ve checked everywhere else,” Yuuri says. 

“You’re right.” Viktor’s eyes sparkle as he looks at Yuuri, then around the shop. “Ah! What about this?”

Apparently bodysuits and leotards are high fashion in the edgy teenage set right now, at least in this part of the galaxy. Viktor holds up a simple black leotard.

It’s so plain. Yuuri is suspicious. “Show me the back.”

Viktor flips it, smile widening. The back of the leotard dips very, very low; scarcely ending above the butt, and the shoulder straps are thin.

“It’ll look beautiful with your back,” Viktor says. “Maybe with these lovely tights?”

Viktor’s holding up a package of holographic glitter leggings. Yuuri chooses to assume he’s kidding, based on the twinkle in his eyes.

“I would prefer these,” Yuuri says, reaching for a pair in deep crimson. Unlike the glittery tights, the red pair is footless.

“Red it is,” Viktor agrees, then takes both up to pay.

Yuuri’s jittery. He wants to get back to the ship to prepare and unwind, but Viktor insists on getting lunch together too. At least he picks a tiny cafe on the upper level, and charms his way into a cozy booth in the corner. It’s so tight that if they’d been carrying shopping bags, they would not have fit. 

“Have you been to Arleon before?” Viktor asks, after they’ve ordered.

“No, this is my first time here,” Yuuri says. He’s shocked when the chip doesn’t stop him from adding, “But this is where my dog came from.”

“Your dog!” Viktor says. “What kind of dog? My Makkachin came from here too!”

Yuuri knows all about Makkachin, Viktor’s standard poodle. The reason his toy poodle had come from this system specifically is because of Makkachin. After his first out-system performance, Minako had proudly offered to get him anything he wanted, and what he wanted was a poodle just like Viktor’s.

“He’s a poodle, a toy poodle.” Yuuri says.

“Wow!” Viktor says. “My Makkachin is a standard. They say the best ones come from here. “What’s your poodle’s name?”

Yuuri had really been hoping he wouldn’t ask. “Vicchan,” he says, wishing he could lie. 

Thankfully the waitress stops by with their meals before Viktor gets a chance to glow too much about that one.

“Where is Makkachin? She’s not on the ship.” Yuuri fiddles with his fork.

“She’s staying with a friend while we go on this tour. She doesn’t do well with long trips.” The corners of Viktor’s mouth turn down briefly.

“Ah.” Yuuri misses Vicchan dearly. This is the longest he’s been without his pet since he got him all those years ago. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you when you return.”

“Of course. I can’t wait.” VIktor’s smile comes back.

The meal is delicious. Yuuri spends most of it alternating between thoughts of Rurik’s plans and their performance tonight, picking at his food. 

Viktor reaches out and puts a hand over Yuuri’s. “Don’t worry, Yuuri, this whole restaurant is erasin-free. I checked in advance.”

Chances are good he really did. Yuuri flushes.

Viktor’s so, so different from the man Yuuri thought he was, that he idolized. He’s… silly and stubborn and flighty. And laughing at him, fond.

Yuuri reaches out and taps the crown of Viktor’s head. “Maybe you should have bought that purple hat with the spikes. It’s getting a little thinner.”

“Yuuuuuuri~”

It isn’t a date. Now is not the time, Yuuri repeats to himself. 

\---

The leotard fits; so do the leggings. Yuuri doesn’t know what they would have done if it hadn’t. Perhaps used the tight booty shorts Rurik had dressed him with?

Yuuri stretches, slow and methodical, warming his muscles and trying to focus solely on his breathing. The gems in his back still tug a little when he pushes too far, but there isn’t pain.

No matter how many times Yuuri performs, it’s always the same. Get together an audience, especially a audience who’s cheering for him, and a tightness wraps around Yuuri’s chest. Sometimes it helps him push harder, perform better, and sometimes it’s a weight around his heart, tense and awkward and sluggish.

He has breathing exercises to deal with this. Breathe in seven counts, hold for three, breathe out for seven. They don’t particularly help, but they’re part of his pre-performance routine regardless. 

It’s his first performance with Viktor. People have come from all over to watch.

Yuuri’s bored of feeling like this: predictable, weak. It might actually be easier if Viktor orders him to dance.

“I’ve spoken with the lighting technician,” VIktor says, and Yuuri nearly jumps out of his skin. He hadn’t heard him come in. Mila, Yuri, and Georgi are in the bright backstage area, chatting and stretching. Yuuri retreated to the dressing room to change and neglected to appear again.

“Oh?” Yuuri says, hoping is voice is cool and casual. It sounds tight and tense.

“Yes, he said he has the perfect setup to really make the gems on your back sparkle without blinding you at the same time. It’ll be perfect!”

“Perfect,” Yuuri echoes. He stretches both arms behind his back and tilts his neck forward, holding the pose and breathing.

“Are you nervous?” Viktor asks, from much closer. Yuuri startles.

Viktor slides closer, puts a warm hand on the bare span of his lower back. Yuuri’s very aware of his presence, warm and solid behind him, inches away. “Yuuri,” Viktor says, soft in Yuuri’s ear. “No one will be able to take their eyes off of you.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Yuuri says, pouring confidence into his voice. 

\---

The stage is dim, and Yuuri’s back is to the audience for the starting pose. He imagines what they see: expensive body mod, companion bracelets. Recordings are prohibited, but the troupe’s just too famous; here’s no way that news of Yuuri won’t make it out. 

Yuuri forces thoughts of Rurik out of his mind as the first few notes begin to play.

Yuuri stretches his arms up slowly, swaying as the music builds. As the melody appears, bold and bright, he turns to face the crowd.

Hundreds of eyes are fixed on him. Sometimes, that pressure is crushing. Other times, like now, it sends pure energy into his veins, giving him strength and confidence as he executes his first leap and rebound.

His landing is flawless, as is the next transition. The beat of the song pulses alongside his heart.

It isn’t perfect. Viktor will have more than a few things to lecture him about, especially the leap which ended with only half of his foot on the edge of the stage, but Yuuri recovers well and keeps going until he’s frozen in his ending pose, sweaty and exhilarated.

The applause is a roar of sound, filling the room and washing over Yuuri in waves.

Viktor claps him on the shoulder, grinning. It must be time to get off the stage. Yuuri bows the to audience, then to Viktor, retreating to the side when he’s done. The crowd grows silent as Viktor stands in the spotlight.

It’s better than watching recordings. It’s better than front-row seats. It’s even better than watching him practice, because on stage in the lights and in the rapt gaze of the audience, Viktor is music made flesh. Soft royal blue starsilk, perfectly tailored, shows off his perfect proportions, and a small blue rose sits tucked behind his ear, a glorious splash of color against silver hair. 

He’s beyond beautiful.

It isn’t until they gather for a final bow, Viktor on his right and Yuri on his left, that Yuuri feels himself come back to reality. He’s still a slave. He’s trapped, on the edge of Rurik’s strings. But Viktor’s hand is warm on the small of his back, steadying, and Yuuri just had one of the best nights of his life.

He smiles so hard his face hurts.

\---

Viktor joins Yuuri in the shower. The chip has no part to play in what they’re doing, because they’re kissing too long and deep for any casual orders to slip out. Yuuri firmly pushes the circumstances of why they’re here out of mind, choosing instead to devote all his energy to kissing Viktor breathless.

The breadth of Viktor’s shoulders is just enough that Yuuri can tuck sweetly into his arms, and the difference in their heights isn’t enough to strain their necks.

Brave, drunk on the magic of the night, Yuuri reaches up to tangle his fingers in the silver hair at the nape of Viktor’s neck. Viktor’s elegant hands tighten on Yuuri’s hips.

“Yuuri, you were so beautiful tonight,” Viktor says. The words run down Yuuri’s spine, warmth and pleasure.

Viktor’s only pulled away a few inches to speak, but Yuuri closes that distance. _You’re the beautiful one_ , he thinks.

Viktor’s hands trace along Yuuri’s naked spine, higher and higher until he’s touching with gentle fingers the gems on his back, outlining constellations in the spaces between them. Yuuri freezes, overwhelmed. Viktor pulls back to look him in the eye. 

“Sorry, do they hurt?” His voice is soft.

“No,” Yuuri says honestly. He pulls back to grab the soapy sponge, discarded on the floor while they were distracted with each other, and rubs it awkwardly over Viktor’s chest. He can’t meet Viktor’s eyes, talk about his back is like a splash of cold water.

Viktor wraps his slightly larger hand around Yuuri’s, stilling the sponge. “They’re absolutely lovely. Just like you.”

Yuuri reaches out to trace the perfect curve of Viktor’s cheek. Viktor nuzzles into it and presses a soft kiss to the center of Yuuri’s palm.

“Yuuri, how much would it cost to buy out your contract?” Viktor breathes against his lifeline. 

The command chip slams down, leaving Yuuri with an open mouth and no words to fill the silence.

Viktor leans in until their foreheads press together, damp hair on damp skin. “I’d love for you to be here always. Not as a companion, just as yourself.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, and can’t say more. His eyes burn, his throat is tight.

“I don’t know what kind of deal you had with Rurik,” VIktor continues, voice still gentle, “but surely it’s not forever.”

“I can’t,” Yuuri says, though it guts him to do so. Viktor doesn’t broadcast his emotions for all the world to see, not really, but skin to skin Yuuri can see the hurt in his blue eyes.

“Of course,” Viktor says, closed off in a way he wasn’t before, pulling away to rinse off the spray. “It was just a thought.”

“I love to dance with you,” Yuuri says, fighting against the limits of the chip. “This is my dream.”

Viktor turns off the tap, smile fake and reflective. “And dance you will! We still have the big performance left to go, after all.”

Yuuri nods. Swallows against the lump in his throat.

They don’t talk much after that.

\---

“You look tired today,” Mila says. “Exert yourself a little too much?”

Viktor busies himself with securing the transmission with their contact on Seran. He and Mila are in their small shuttle bay, huddling over the little vidscreen there. “Your final lift with Yura was sloppy. Did you lose your grip?”

“No need to be snippy,” Mila says, voice still mild. She’s known him a long time and can probably tell something’s going on.

The console rings with a muted chime. Mila taps it to answer, and a middle-aged man’s face fades in on the screen.

“Hello, Mr. Nikiforov! And Ms. Babicheva. The reviews of your latest performance are glowing, as always.” Their contact, Councillor Audlin, smiles and and nods in greeting, but deep circles ring his tired eyes. The stalemate in the Seran system hasn’t changed, but its steady pressure weighs heavily on everyone involved.

“Councillor! Great to see you. I trust you’re looking forward to our visit?” Viktor smiles. He wouldn’t have agreed to smuggle these goods if he didn’t believe Audlin’s cause is worth it. 

“It’s incredible that you’ve traveled so far to meet with us. It will be a great morale booster and a break from all the tension.” The room behind Audlin is planetside, and the window over his shoulder shows thick green leaves at sunset. 

“Speaking of a morale booster, we brought along some souvenirs!” Mila says. Anyone listening in to their conversation would learn nothing.

Audlin’s shoulders visibly relax. “How kind of you.”


	5. Chapter 5

There’s a process to a good stretch. You have to be fully aware of your body: how far you can push it, how long you should hold a pose.

Yuuri follows the motions as he’s done since childhood, sliding down into the splits and then pointing his toes, feeling the tension in his muscles.

Viktor’s proposal of the night before is still lingering in the air, even as Yuuri stretches alone in his room. _I’d love for you to be here always. Not as a companion, just as yourself._

Yuuri dips his head down, chin to chest, then slowly rolls his ear to his shoulder.

Viktor’s left to go check on some souvenirs that the troupe is bringing along to Seran.

He’s been half-expecting the other shoe to drop in regards to Rurik for so long that when it does it’s a mix of fear, dread, and relief.

There’s a sharp metallic ping from his fake companion bracelets and Yuuri jerks up at the sound. He didn’t know they could transmit audio.

“Hello there, Yuuri.” Rurik’s voice comes through. “Listen to me.”

The area of space they’re in is a communications dead zone, artificially created around the conflict area that is Seran. Rurik must be close, to be transmitting like this. Yuuri’s stomach clenches. He should have covered his ears at the first moment; now all he can do is listen.

“I’m going to be paying a little visit, soon. Do not tell the troupe about me. Only my commands apply now. When I have Viktor come to my ship, you are to come along with him. Just you, no one else. Do your best to make sure everyone cooperates, okay?”

Yuuri swallows.

“Answer me, Yuuri. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says, voice toneless.

“Great.” Rurik’s voice is low and pleased.

Yuuri always knew this dream–his time with Viktor–was too good to last.

 

* * *

 

The indicator lights on the cartons of matryoshka souvenirs are glowing a steady green; air-tight and ready for transport. The area of space they’re in is ideal for the handoff.

Viktor can’t tell what Yuuri is thinking. He’s having a good time, correct? Surely this troupe is better than time with Rurik.

There must be something else. There are some things that just don’t add up about Yuuri’s employment with the man. Viktor isn’t stupid.

He’s determined to get to the bottom of it. Tonight he’ll sit down with Yuuri, over some nice dinner and perhaps with a drink or two, and just talk to him. There has to be a way. Rurik was eager at the beginning of all this to hand over Yuuri’s contract no questions asked.

“Viktor.” Georgi’s tense voice from the intercom startles him out of his thoughts. Viktor’s never heard his voice sound like that, even among the wide range of emotion that makes Georgi… Georgi.

“What’s happening?” They’re about to make the transfer, now is not the time for complications.

“There’s a ship.” From the way Georgi speaks, Viktor knows it isn’t Audlin. “It just came in hot. Their weapons are locked on us.”

Viktor’s heart sinks like a stone. Smugglers they may occasionally be, but their ship is unarmed. They rely entirely on never being suspected.

“Viktor, they’re requesting to speak with you by name.”

Fuck. “I’ll be there in a moment, Georgi. Hold on.”

Viktor runs his hand through his hair, takes a deep breath, and heads up to the small pilot area as the emergency alert begins to sound, shrill beeping and red flashing lights.

He reaches the cockpit shortly before the rest of the troupe, and they all awkwardly shuffle to fit in the small space. Viktor makes eye contact with each of them, taking in Mila’s sharp expression, Yuri’s feigned bravado, and Yuuri… Yuuri, who doesn’t know about the smuggling. He doesn’t look confused or scared, which Viktor would expect, just achingly sad. They’re close enough in this cramped compartment that Viktor can reach out and hold his hand. He grips Yuuri’s smaller hand tightly, out of view of the comm screen, and presses the blinking indicator light to open the channel.

Rurik’s face fills the screen.

He’s dressed in a three-piece suit and tie in garish, violent crimson.

Yuuri’s hand in his squeezes tight. Oh.

“Rurik! Funny seeing you here,” Viktor says. He squeezes Yuuri’s hand back firmly.

“Viktor! And the talented Nikiforov troupe. What a pleasant surprise. I was just hoping to chat with you.” Rurik’s voice is smooth and casual.

Rurik’s always been a bit of a wildcard. Sure, he’s an obnoxious fan with very poor fashion taste, but he also runs a number of very successful businesses across the galaxy. He isn’t one of the top 10 wealthiest in the galaxy, but he’s close. There’s a chance he doesn’t know about the medicine in their hold, and really just wants to talk.

“You know me, Rurik, always happy to chitchat. Seems like an odd location for it, don’t you think? The scenery is lacking.” Viktor needs to have Rurik gone by the time Audlin arrives for any hope of keeping their secrets to remain.

“Ahhh, if that were only the case. I wouldn’t have to target your ship with all these phasers if you were as open to talking as you say. I appreciate playing hard-to-get, but this is ridiculous.” Rurik mimes a gun motion with both hands.

“What is it you’d like to talk about? I’m all ears.”

“How about you come over here and we can have a little discussion?”

Viktor doesn’t want to be alone with Rurik, but they’re defenseless right now. He might be able to talk his way out of whatever this is. “All right. I’d be happy to.” Viktor spreads his arms wide. “Now can you please turn off your weapons? You know we’re unarmed.”

“I will, I will.” Rurik looks pleased. “Oh, and why don’t you bring my Yuuri along? I take it you’ve been enjoying him?”

Yuuri’s hand in his is gripping so tight.

“Yuuri’s lovely,” Viktor says, fully honest. “He’s a perfect fit for our troupe.”

“Excellent. I’ll send a shuttle to you momentarily.” Rurik smiles.

The screen goes blank. Everyone starts talking at once.

“Viktor, you can’t just waltz on over to that scumbag’s ship!” Yuri slams his hand down for emphasis.

“Audlin will be here _soon_. What are we going to do then?” Mila says.

“Their weapons are still locked on and ready to fire.” Georgi frowns and taps the screen.

Only Yuuri is quiet.

“Yuuri, do you know what’s going on?” Viktor turns to him.

“No,” Yuuri says. Viktor gets caught briefly in his sad eyes.

Viktor sighs, then looks to his friends. “I’m open to suggestions. I don’t want to go over there any more than you do, but we don’t really have a choice. If we can talk our way out of this quickly, we might still have time to meet up with Audlin.”

“I can try to find a way to message Audlin,” Mila offers immediately. “If I can do it without alerting Rurik, we can have him hold off for a time.”

Mila is not a technician, but she’s whip-smart. Her family made their fortunes in tech. “Do your best, Mila. We’re counting on you.”

“I can drop an emergency beacon,” Georgi says. “but there’s no way Rurik wouldn’t see. Those things scream on all frequencies the moment they’re dropped. No one’s in this area of space to hear it, even if I did.”

“Get one ready to go anyway,” Viktor says. “Good thinking.”

Yuri has no such background in tech. He grips the back of the comm chair tight.

“Don’t worry, Yura,” Viktor says. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. It’ll all be fine.”

“I’m not worried.” Yuri says, looking away. “Just be quick about it, all right?”

“All right.” Viktor says, then turns back to Yuuri. “You don’t have to come along, Yuuri.”

“No,” Yuuri says, voice strong, eyes still sad. “I’ll come.”

Rurik’s shuttle arrives without incident. There’s a very bland-looking mercenary type piloting it. She’s tall and well-muscled, and the gun on her belt is no simple stunner. It looks military-issue.

Viktor hopes very seriously that Mila is able to get in contact with Audlin, as the shuttle doors close with finality and they begin the short journey to Rurik’s ship. Yuuri’s still silent. He’d let go of Viktor’s hand when they boarded, and he’s now sitting with both fists curled in his lap, shoulders tense.

The shuttle interior is standard and neutral, which is surprising considering the type of man Rurik is. Viktor deduces that this isn’t one of Rurik’s regular ships. The very buff pilot doesn’t look like his typical company either.

When they arrive, the doors open to a smiling Rurik. Yuuri and Viktor both stand. Yuuri’s shoulders look so tense, Viktor wants to press his hand up against his spine and help him relax. They’ll find a way out of this.

“Viktor!” Rurik says, extending a hand. “How good to see you.”

It won’t help his cause to be outwardly rude. Viktor reaches out to shake his hand, but is interrupted almost immediately by a mercenary locking shiny handcuffs around his wrist, and then the other, securing them behind his back.

Viktor glances back to Yuuri, but he’s just standing there, stock-still.

“What the hell do you want, Rurik.” The cuffs on his wrists are serious and solid.

“I would think that’s obvious by now, Viktor. You, of course.” Rurik has the audacity to reach up at pat him on the head.

Yuuri jerks forward, eyes furious, but Ruriks says, “Now now, Yuuri, don’t interfere. You’ve done such a great job so far.”

Yuuri stops.

_No._ The entire scene crystallizes around Viktor. He is in cuffs. Yuuri is not.

“Veronika, we’re done here.” Rurik says to the tough-looking guard on his right, “Fire on that ship.”

Viktor’s attention snaps back to Rurik, processing the words in icy dread. “Wait! Don’t!”

One of the guards near Rurik taps his headset. “Sir? A new ship just arrived off our starboard bow. Political fast cruiser.”

Audlin has arrived.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short! The next chapter is much longer, I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much to Hudebuc for the beta! You're the bestest of the best.

Viktor has perfect blue eyes. Yuuri has stared at them in posters, recordings, and net posts since childhood, and more recently in practice, over dinner, and in bed. Blue is Yuuri’s favorite color.

Right now the expression in Viktor’s blue eyes is betrayal. It’s a lancing pain in his chest.

The complete picture of Rurik’s plan comes together in crystal clarity in Yuuri’s mind. He wanted Viktor and Yuuri to come alone so he could dispose of the rest of the troupe. Guilt at his unwilling participation fills him, thick and tight around his heart. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, to ease the hurt in Viktor’s gaze, but nothing comes out.

“Sir? A new ship just arrived off our starboard bow. Political fast cruiser.” One of Rurik’s hired men says, tense.

The flicker of surprise on Rurik’s face is quickly smoothed away, but Yuuri catches it. He isn’t expecting this new ship.

“Hold your fire,” Rurik says. “Are they armed?”

“Unclear, sir. They’re heavily shielded.”

“Keep our weapons on both of them for now.” Rurik says. Yuuri marvels at how calm and in control he sounds; his air of command is unshakable. “Get them on the comm. I’ll be at the command deck shortly.”

“You can’t shoot them,” Viktor says, his voice the iciest Yuuri has ever heard it. “They did nothing to you. I thought we were here for a discussion, Rurik.”

“I can do what I want,” Rurik says. “Because I’m the one with the power here.”

“Why? Why go to all this trouble? Sending a spy after me,” Viktor spits out, “and trying to kill a troupe of dancers? What can you possibly gain?”

These are all things Yuuri wants to know as well. But he’s always been emotionally weak, and he hates it, he _hates_ that his eyes have filled with so many tears that it’s hard to see. He reaches up to furiously scrub them away–now is _not the time_ –and it catches the attention of both Viktor and Rurik.

“Oh, come on,” Rurik says, and a little annoyance slips through his careful mask of control. “I’m letting you live, aren’t I? You were much too expensive to just dispose of. I’ll even let you stay with him, when it’s all over. I’ve been listening in through those fake bracelets, you know. I can tell how very _close_ you two are.”

Yuuri bites his lip and chokes down a sob. He can’t look at Viktor, who’s opinion of him has probably sunk impossibly lower.

Rurik sighs. “Yuuri, stop crying.”

He stops between one breath and the next, though his face is still wet and his eyes burn.

And he can’t help it, he looks to Viktor, who is horrified.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Viktor asks, and if his voice before was ice, his voice now is scorching fire.

“I don’t have time to deal with this,” Rurik says, crisp and unaffected. “But don’t be mad at him. Don’t worry, Yuuri, you can tell him all about it when you’re both in the room I’ve prepared for you. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. And really, if you had just agreed at the beginning, none of this would have happened at all.”

“Is this about having me perform for you? How do you expect to get away with this? There’s no way I’ll keep quiet if I’m alive.” Viktor says, tilting his body closer to Yuuri in a futile attempt to be closer.

Rurik sighs. To Yuuri, though, he looks just a tad too pleased to explain, “I’m going to get exactly what I want, Viktor Nikiforov. You’re going to agree to whatever I say for the same reason Yuuri agrees to what I say, and you’re going to perform exclusively for me on my new station with your little boyfriend here, after you retire from touring because of the tragic death of your troupe in the politically tense Seran system. And when they ask me, ‘how did you get the best dancer in the universe to perform just for you?’ I can say, well, he just respects me and my company that much.”

Viktor’s eyes are wide. Yuuri’s stomach aches.

Rurik waves his arm in a grand gesture at his guard. “Take them to their room. Yuuri, stay put or I’ll have you cuffed too. I have more important things to deal with right now.”

Yuuri can feel Viktor’s eyes on him each agonizing step there.

* * *

The room they’re taken to is much more richly decorated than the spartan corridors of the ship. Viktor recognises it after a moment with growing horror as a homage to one of his own famous costumes. Everything is rich black, with sparkling silver accents and flashes of red. It’s over-the-top and deeply unsettling. Viktor’s had plenty of fans, of course, Yuuri included, but this is a new level of fucked up.

Yuuri.

The frightening way he’d stopped, mid-sob, face rearranging into a blank mask at a word from Rurik.

Yuuri’s tears have dried now, but Viktor can see the sadness in his eyes, clear as anything. He clenches his fists; he so deeply wants to reach out to Yuuri, but he has questions he needs answered if they’re going to find a way out of this.

“Yuuri,” he says, voice gentle. “Yuuri, can you tell me what’s going on?”

Yuuri bites his perfect lip and hangs his head. “I’m so sorry, Viktor, I couldn’t tell you anything before, and I swear, I swear I didn’t know his plan.”

“I know,” Viktor says, because apart from that brief moment of doubt, he knows Yuuri’s speaking the truth. “This is all on him. What happened?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath and corrects his posture, shoulders tall. “He kidnapped me. My parents, they run a hot spring resort and Rurik happened to see me perform there. It was all to get to you, but I promise I didn’t know.”

Kidnapped? “Yuuri-” Viktor starts, but Yuuri keeps going, like he thinks that if he stops now he won’t be able to start again, like he’s surprised he’s able to speak at all.

“Rurik, he. He put those fake companion bracelets on me, and the gems in my back. And he implanted a command chip. I’m so sorry, Viktor, but I have to do what he says. I can’t fight it. I’ve tried so hard.”

“ _A command chip?_ ” Viktor interrupts, shocked. That kind of illegal thing only shows up in dramas; powerful and expensive and universally forbidden.

There’s a dull roaring in his ears. Viktor feels untethered. The horror that someone would do that to Yuuri is overwhelming..

Yuuri grows silent, arms held unconsciously tight around his own middle.

Rurik plans to implant a command chip in Viktor too.

Yuuri has been under Rurik’s order the entire time he’s known him. Unable to say a word about it, trapped and passed off to Viktor as a fake companion.

Pieces begin to fall into place.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, his voice a heavy stone sinking through the thick atmosphere. “Did you have to obey _me?_ ”

Yuuri’s expression is answer enough. He can’t cry.

Viktor can. He’s not a man prone to tears, but they well up in his eyes now.

* * *

Viktor’s tears are the worst. Yuuri can’t stand them, can’t tolerate the circumstances that brought them both here. He has to do something.

“We need to get out of here,” Yuuri says, voice loud and steady and sure, even as he scrambles to think of an escape. There has to be a way they can use Rurik’s tools against him. He glances around the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.

The door’s locked. Viktor’s arms are bound. Even if there is a stun gun or something left around, which Rurik would never be stupid enough to permit, Yuuri’s never fired one before in his life. He and Mari learned basic self defense, just enough to help them deal with rowdy guests at their family resort, but Rurik’s people look very serious and very strong.

There has to be a solution, and it probably won’t involve brute force.

“Can you try to get my cuffs off?” Viktor asks. Tears are still dripping down his pale cheeks, but he’s looking around the room too.

Yuuri walks behind Viktor and tries unlock his cuffs, shifting Viktor’s hands this way and that, but the metal is thick and unforgiving. They remind him of the companion bracelets on his own wrists, which Rurik apparently used to listen in on all his conversations. He probably also used the bracelet’s native functions, those used to monitor the health and safety of companions, to track the ship’s location.

An idea forms, suddenly.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says. “I think I know a way out of this, and you’re not going to like it, but just, please, trust me, okay?”

“All right,” Viktor says, easy as anything. “What do you need me to do?”

Yuuri eyes the room. There’s a decorative wall hanging with many large, jagged white crystals. Yuuri understands the reference; this style of gem looked much better on Viktor’s debut costume than as a wall decoration. Still, it will suit his purposes.

“I know a way to get the guards to check on us,” Yuuri says. “I don’t think he has a lot of staff to spare on a ship this small, so he will probably only send one. When they come, can you stand by the door and try to tackle them down while they’re distracted?”

“I can try, Yuuri,” Viktor says, “but what are you going to do? We’re at a major disadvantage here, and they have weapons.”

Yuuri reaches up to pull the wall decoration down. It’s attached quite well, and eventually he just has to rip a particularly sharp-looking gem out. It leaves a few minor cuts on his palm, but that is bracing in its own way.

“These are fake, but they’re still companion bracelets. If he’s been tracking me with it all this time, he must have a monitor somewhere nearby feeding him information from it,” Yuuri says. “I’m going to make it light up.”

Viktor’s eyeing the sharp gem and Yuuri with wide eyes. He starts to walk closer, and Yuuri knows he needs to do this now, before he chickens out. It has to be serious enough to set the alarms screaming, and unfortunately the line between serious and fatal is very thin. This is his only chance.

With everything he has, he stabs the gem midway down the meat of his outer thigh. And _fuck_ it hurts, it hurts and hurts, but he presses it in deep and true. Blood wells up, immediately soaking into his pants and down his leg.

Yuuri drops the slippery gem onto the floor of the suite and stares numbly at the mess he’s made.

He hopes there’s a monitor going off somewhere.

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s yelling. Yuuri refocuses on his worried face.

“I’m fine,” Yuuri says, trying for an even tone and ending up breathy with pain. He wipes his sticky hand off on his shirt. “If they’re coming, they’ll be here soon.”

He remembers vaguely that you’re supposed to leave objects in a stab wound, although if asked he couldn’t recall were that information comes from. He presses his palm to the puncture, concerned at the amount of blood leaking out. It’s entirely likely he miscalculated.

Viktor’s eyes are shining, but he takes his place to the side of the door.

Yuuri slides down to the floor and does his best to look hurt and pathetic. It isn’t difficult.

Time stretches on, and on, and on. What if it didn’t work? What if he hit something important?

When the door slides open, Yuuri nearly melts in relief. The guard, no doubt aware of just how expensive Viktor and Yuuri are to Rurik and unthreatened by a couple of dancers, rushes to Yuuri’s side and leans down. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get it out Viktor spins and beans him in the head with the sturdy metal handcuffs on his wrists, with a quiet, dancer’s grace.

The guard falls. Yuuri scrambles up, which is difficult with the wound in his thigh. He takes the gun out of the guard’s holster. Viktor leans in close automatically, offering his shoulder, and Yuuri wraps an arm around him for support. “Let’s get to the escape pod.”

Due to the nature of emergencies on a spacecraft, the path to an escape pod is always clearly marked. They follow the glowing red indicators easy enough, coming into a closed-off bay with two small pods.

Yuuri and Viktor clamor into one. There’s a short launch sequence for this type of tech; a switch must be flipped, and then an obvious red button has to be pressed. Viktor flips the switch, and looks up to Yuuri, who’s standing with one foot raised to enter.

He can’t move an inch closer to the door.

Rurik’s order comes back to him, _stay put_.

Yuuri punches the metal edge of the door, scrunching his eyes shut.

“I can’t,” Yuuri says. “He ordered me to stay. You’re going to have to go. The second you’re out, send a message to everyone on the emergency channel. He won’t fire on you, you’re worth too much for him to do that.”

“Yuuri, I won’t just leave you here.” Viktor’s already on the move, trying to shuffle out of the pod as well.

He can’t have things happen this way. Yuuri’s already starting to feel foggy from blood loss.

This _stupid chip_. It let him get out of the room just fine, but actual escape is forbidden.

There has to be a way. Yuuri looks around the corridor. “I have an idea.”

“But I’m not going to like it,” Viktor finishes for him.

“No,” Yuuri agrees. “But please, trust me. Stay put and take a deep breath when I say.”

“You can barely walk!” Viktor says.

“I won’t be far.”

There’s a control panel on the wall, and Yuuri has a hope, abiet a faint one, because that panel is familiar. They’re the same style as they have in the guest rooms at his family resort, high-end climate control.

Yuuri taps in a code, shaking with a combination of adrenaline and pain, and goes weak with relief when the default combination of numbers he taps in works. Rurik hadn’t customized this part and Yuuri knows the admin password by heart.

Sometimes, they’d have guests who left their rooms unbearably smelly, with smoke or other contaminants. And when that happened, the easiest way to fix it was to vent the atmosphere and start again.

A different screen loads, listing temperature, pressure, and corridor information.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s counting on him.

“Viktor, stay in the pod,” Yuuri says. “I’ll be there in a moment. Um, take a deep breath now.”

Venting the atmosphere isn’t a one-tap process, there are a number of alerts and safety protocols in place. Yuuri’s always done this before from _outside_ the room that’s being vented, but he moves through the menu swiftly and types in the correct admin code. He takes a deep breath and holds it.

The chip will kick in to protect his safety, like it has before. Yuuri just hopes it’ll be enough to allow him to jump in the pod.

Rurik’s going to notice. He has to be fast.

Red alert lights begin to flash along the ceiling and floor, and a shrill beeping fills the air as this section of corridor is cordoned off from the rest. The air thins quickly and efficiently. Yuuri holds his breath, lungs aching, and launches himself towards the escape pod door. When the atmosphere becomes too unsafe, the escape pod will launch automatically, and Yuuri comforts himself with that thought. Viktor will be safe, even if Yuuri can’t join him.

It isn’t until his vision is fading a little at the edges that he’s able to throw his body forward, into the pod with Viktor. It isn’t graceful, Yuuri’s legs practically give out, but he leans heavily over Viktor and presses the launch button. The latch slams closed. The escape pod soundlessly jets away from Rurik’s ship, into the starfield.

“Yuuri!” Viktor says, breathing heavily, as soon as the pod is filled with proper air again. “How did you-?”

Yuuri takes in lungful after lungful of air gratefully.

They’re not safe yet. Yuuri taps the clearly-labeled emergency comm.

“Viktor’s on this ship, Rurik. You lose everything if you fire!” Yuuri yells, the second the sending light glows a solid green.

“I can’t be ordered to do something fatal.” His voice comes out faintly. “I just made it so the chip had to choose between my safety and an order.” Yuuri tips forward against Viktor’s shoulder, the adrenaline leaving him all at once. His thigh is still bleeding. Yuuri wonders how long it can bleed.

“You’re amazing, Yuuri.” Viktor says

* * *

The slow minutes that pass in transit, with Yuuri slumped and bleeding against his shoulder, are agonizing. He’s never been happier to return to their ship.

Georgi and Yuri are there as the hatch slides open. Mila must still be on the pilot deck. Viktor hopes she’s talking with Audlin.

“He’s hurt,” Viktor says, which is obvious by the amount of blood soaking through Yuuri’s pants. Viktor knows he has bruises from pulling so hard against his own handcuffs. “Georgi-”

Georgi’s reaching in and lifting up a bleary Yuuri before he has to explain further. “I’ll get the medkit. You need to get to Mila.”

It hurts him to leave Yuuri there, but Georgi’s right.

Yuri retrieves one of their maintenance tools to swiftly and clumsily cut the cuffs off of Viktor. Yuri’s hands are shaking just a little, and he doesn’t have anything cutting to say. As soon as he’s free, Viktor pats him on the back.

Viktor can tell Yuri has questions, but he has smears of Yuuri’s blood on his hands and clothes. There’s no time to waste.

They rush to the pilot area and clamber inside.

“Viktor!” Mila greets, relieved. Then she sees the state of his clothing. “Did that bastard hurt you? I’ve been talking to Audlin. What’s going on?”

“I’m not hurt,” Viktor says. Rurik’s ship and Audlin’s loom on the view screen.

Viktor taps a few buttons and gets Georgi on the comm. “How’s Yuuri?”

“He’s in the medpod now.” They can hear the bland voice of the emergency medical protocol coming through from Georgi’s end, along with some insistent beeping. “He’s still awake.”

“Good,” Viktor says, swallowing and trying to contain his rushing thoughts. Trusting the computer to take care of Yuuri is the best they can do. They’ve never had to activate the medpod before; it’s been collecting metaphorical dust since the ship’s purchase. Viktor has never been so thankful they come standard on all modern craft. “Georgi, can you try and keep him awake for a little longer? Talk to him, maybe.”

Viktor will need Yuuri awake for his plan to work.

“All right, Viktor.” Georgi clearly doesn’t understand the _why_ but he trusts Viktor enough to execute.

“Thank you. I’m going to message Rurik in a moment, and then we’re going to need to patch him through to Yuuri. But first, Mila, how’s Audlin? Did you get the secure link working?”

“I think so,” Mila says. “We’ve been talking, at least. Was Rurik listening in?”

“I don’t think we’d still be alive if he was,” Viktor says. “Great job, Mila. Thank you. Can you send him a message, tell him to power on his weapons at my command? We’ll only have one shot at this.”

Mila’s eyes are wide. Viktor wishes he had more time to explain.

“And then patch me through to Rurik, please.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Viktor.” Mila says, tapping out a message quickly and sending it off. “All right, connecting you now.”

Rurik’s face again fills the screen. His face is placid and the mercenaries at his side remain unchanged, but his eyes are livid.

“Viktor,” Rurik says, “So sorry to hear you’ve made this mistake.”

“You’re not sorry yet,” Viktor says. “But you will be.”

“Ahhh, Viktor,” Rurik says. “It’s really a shame it has had to come to this. I have spent so much energy and time and money on this project. But a businessman knows when to cut his losses.”

That sounds like a prelude to weaponsfire.

“Mila, now,” he orders.

Viktor holds his breath for the anxious few seconds it takes before Audlin’s ship fires up their impressive array of war-ready, concealed weapons. It’s an arsenal Rurik has no chance of challenging.

“Rurik, meet councillor Audlin of Seran.” Viktor says. “You may be able to blow up my little ship, but you will not destroy his in a million years. And he has a voice, you see, as politicians do. Unless you do exactly as I say, he’ll be telling the whole universe about kidnapping, command chips, and attempted murder.”

This is a blatant lie. Audlin doesn’t have a speck of data about those things. But Viktor can carry a bluff.

Rurik’s mask slips, and it’s an ugly thing. So much hatred.

“What are your terms?” Rurik grinds out.

“I see you’re ready to talk business with me. You will power down your weapons. You will disable that chip in Yuuri immediately and permanently, and the fake bracelets. And you will leave this system and never come near me or my troupe again. If anything suspicious should happen to me or any of mine in the future, all this information will be leaked to the press in every system I have access to. And I have a lot of press access,” Viktor smiles, “it comes from being such a media darling, you see. Even you can’t bribe them all.”

Rurik looks like he’s swallowed 20 lemons. Without his reputation, his businesses are nothing. He nods to a crewmember off-screen.

“Their weapons are down,” Mila reports.

“A fucking _command chip?_ ” Yuri whispers, furious.

“I see you know when to cut your losses,” Viktor says.

“Patch me through to your little toy, then,” Rurik bites out.

“Yuuri isn’t a toy,” Viktor says, and he’s held it together so far, but now his voice is uneven. “He isn’t mine and he isn’t yours. Georgi, how’s Yuuri?”

“Yuuri’s awake, still. He’s listening,” Georgi reports. The background beeping has grown a lot less insistent than before.

“Release him,” Viktor says.

Rurik sighs dramatically. “I, Rurik Betvia Gold, hereby relinquish control of this command chip.” He lists off a string of letters and numbers, a personal password of some sort. “The chip is now null and void. It can’t be activated again. Waste of a lot of money.”

“The bracelets just unlatched,” Georgi says. He sounds shaken.

“Perfect.” Viktor says. “Yuuri, can you hear me?”

“He nodded,” Georgi confirms.

Viktor can’t afford to relax yet. “Rurik, ask Yuuri to tell you his favorite color.”

“Really?” Rurik says.

“Just _do it_.”

“Tell me your favorite color, Yuuri.”

There’s a pause. Viktor waits with bated breath.

“No,” Yuuri’s voice comes over the comm, weak but firm. “No, I won’t tell you anything.”

Viktor breathes again. “Thank you, Yuuri. You can get some sleep now.”

“He’ll be okay, Viktor,” Georgi says.

“Are we done here?” Rurik cuts in.

“Yes. Get the hell out of my sight, Rurik.”

“With pleasure,” Rurik snaps. His ship’s engines power up within seconds and he retreats until it’s just Audlin’s ship on the viewscreen.

He wants nothing more than to hug his troupe and get to Yuuri, but the job isn’t done yet.

“Mila, let’s get this transfer complete with Audlin. I’m sure he has questions.” Viktor slouches down in his chair.

“You got it.”

* * *

Explaining everything and transferring the goods to Audlin takes a few hours. Viktor reassures him of the special circumstances that will keep their meeting secret, and thanks him profusely for going along with the plan. It was a big risk on Audlin’s part, but it saved their lives.

This medicine will save lives, he assured them.

Viktor taps in the course to Seran with exhaustion deep in his bones. He longs to rest, but not until he’s safe with Yuuri at his side.

The medpod is done whirring about when Viktor finally makes it over to check on him. His steady heartbeat pulses on the monitor, all indicators green or yellow-green.

He’s sleeping. The dark curves of his eyelashes brush the white of his cheeks, and he’s so beautiful it hurts.

Viktor sits down in the hard metal chair his side and reaches out to gently hold Yuuri’s limp hand.

Yuuri saved their lives. He found a way to use Rurik’s own tools against him, even after everything.

He’s exhausted. Really, truly. Still, Viktor stays up for an indeterminate number of hours, watching Yuuri breathe.

He can’t look away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to Hudebec for the beta, and to Athra and Nye for their helpful feedback!

Groggy and heavy-limbed, Yuuri reaches up to rub his eyes. He doesn’t remember falling asleep.

Viktor is slumped in a chair to his right, looking more unkempt than Yuuri has ever seen him, skin gray and hair mussed. “Viktor,” he says, coming awake quickly as pieces of the past day come back to him.

Viktor snaps awake at his name. Yuuri doesn’t miss how Viktor’s gaze shifts from Yuuri’s face, to his thigh, to the indicator reading on the monitor. Yuuri has never been _in_ a medpod before, and the slightly distorted view from inside is disorienting. A permeable barrier of light rings the bed. There’s a hum of sound, almost soothing, from the medical device doing its job.

Yuuri’s thigh still hurts, but it’s a dull ache. He pushes it down.

“Viktor, I didn’t know, I promise-” Yuuri begins, jumping clumsily into the heart of the matter. It’s imperative that Viktor understands.

Viktor looks confused for a brief moment before his shoulders straighten out. He leans in close, gripping the edge of the medpod. “Of course you didn’t know. Yuuri, of course. I’m sorry I ever doubted.”

The room around them is quiet, lights dim. Yuuri wonders how long he’s been out. The ship’s still in one piece.

“How did you get him to let me go? Viktor, you can’t trust him.” Yuuri struggles to sit up, pushing his weight back onto his elbows and pushing down the trembling weakness he feels. “He’ll be back, and he won’t play by the rules.”

“I had an ace up my sleeve,” Viktor explains, unloading the details about Audlin and his own very risky gamble. “And I’m sorry for not letting you know, truly.”

“If you had, Rurik would have known about it, too. We’d both be trapped by him.” Yuuri says. “He wanted to steal you from the world.”

Viktor’s hand twitches twitches towards Yuuri’s, but stills without making contact. Yuuri wishes he hadn’t stopped. “It seems he did manage to steal you. Yuuri, what happened?”

“I-” Yuuri begins. There’s no chip to stop him from talking about it. “I, um.”

He hasn’t been able to speak about what happened since it occurred. The words catch in his throat.

Viktor makes a soft sound of distress. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Yuuri says, too loud. The words queue up, one after the other. “It’s nothing. I was stupid. My family owns a resort, and he saw me dancing. He must have thought I’d be useful to get to you, so. He had someone- ask for directions, to the nearest pharmacy, and when I went outside to help show the way, they drugged me with a quick hypo to the neck. It all happened so fast, I didn’t see it coming.” 

“He kidnapped you from your home?” Viktor asks, flat.

Yuuri had woken up, disoriented in the aesthetician’s workroom.

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. “He won’t risk his reputation to pursue us, at least not now. He won’t come after you and the troupe again. Hopefully he cuts his losses.”

Viktor’s eyes are so serious, a beautiful, pure blue. “It’s not fine. Yuuri, he put a chip in your head. He tried to turn you into a doll.”

It’s still there, deactivated. It probably always will be: insidious, waiting.

It worked, he wants to say. Yuuri felt like a toy, like an object, like a slave. His thoughts bounce off that track like water on glass.

“It’s over now,” Yuuri says, trying to reassure. “He lost.”

Viktor looks like he might cry again.

“I’m not saying it was good, it wasn’t, it was awful,” Yuuri babbles on. “But at least I got to dance with you. T-that wasn’t a lie. You’ve always been my goal. I wanted to dance with you, I wanted to dance better than you. Maybe Rurik could tell, since he’s your fan too, and that’s why he picked me.”

“Yuuri.” Viktor leans in closer. “I am _so sorry_.’

Viktor looks like he’s in pain. Yuuri’s guts writhe with anxiety. He’s said too much, it’s been far, far too much.

“It’s not your fault!” Yuuri shouts. The echoes bounce around the medbay, ringing in the aftermath.

Viktor looks crushed. Yuuri longs for the easy contact they had the last few days.

“What about the performance?” Yuuri asks.

“It’s still on,” Viktor says. “I’m hoping- I’m hoping we can still do our full show. It’s important for the people here, that we made it through the blockade. And no one knows about Rurik. If you’re not feeling up to it-”

“I’ll dance.” Yuuri refuses to let Rurik take that away, too.

Viktor smiles, crooked. “I look forward to it.”

Yuuri squints at the reading on the medpod display above. Most of the indicators are bright green, with a few scattered yellow.

“Do I have to stay here?” The medpod isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s bright and somewhat intimidating. He wants to go back to their room.

Viktor blinks. “No, of course not. Sorry! You can have my bed.”

Yuuri would like that very much. Gathering his strength, he sits up, passing through the light barrier and blinking away the dizzy spots in his vision.

His pants are ripped on his left side, a patch carefully cut away where the puncture wound had been. He doesn’t remember it happening.

Viktor stands, looking at him expectantly.

Ah. “I, um,” he begins, fighting his pride. Walking all the way to Viktor’s room unassisted is impossible. Still, Yuuri shuffles his legs over the side and begins to gingerly put weight on them. Balance has been effortless for Yuuri since childhood, and the unsteady way his limbs won’t cooperate is foreign. “Could you help me get there?”

“Of course,” Viktor says. He slips a bracing arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, taking some of his weight. Yuuri leans into his gentle hold gratefully. The metal of the coridor is cool below his bare feet.

The ship isn’t that big and the walk isn’t terribly far, but Yuuri is still nearly shaking from the exertion when they get to Viktor’s room. Viktor leads him to the bed and retreats immediately, taking a few steps back.

“Can I get you anything? Some water?”

Viktor’s acting strange and Yuuri’s tired. “Just come to bed.”

“I’m fine, Yuuri, I’ll sleep in my chair.” Viktor sets a glass of water on Yuuri’s bedside anyway. His voice is deceptively light and Yuuri doesn’t have the energy to deal with this doublespeak.

“Sleeping in a chair will hurt your back, right before a big performance.” Yuuri refuses to take his bed away.

The thing about Viktor is he doesn’t look upset. He’s tightly-controlled, forcibly relaxed.

But his hair’s mussed and his eyes are beautiful, blue, and sad.

“Viktor,” Yuuri says, soft, exhausted. “Please, sleep with me.”

When Viktor finally nods, Yuuri can breathe again.

Yuuri slides off his ruined pants, leaving them in a crumpled ball on the floor, and puts on another pair of Viktor’s too-big pajamas that were handed to him. Viktor retreats to the bathroom to do his own changing.

An anxious part of Yuuri worries that it’s because of his unwilling deception, because he was a pawn; the bigger part of Yuuri knows bone-deep that Viktor is a good and kind person, who feels guilt for unwittingly ordering Yuuri to do things.

He’s so tired, but he won’t let Rurik hurt Viktor anymore.

When Viktor returns hesitantly from the bathroom, Yuuri holds up the edge of the sheet in invitation. Viktor gratefully climbs in beside him, leaving a generous space between.

Yuuri bites back his anxiety and shifts closer, draping a tentative arm over Viktor’s chest. He wore clothes to bed, and Viktor hates doing that. It’s sweet.

All it takes is Yuuri reaching out for Viktor to meet him where he is. Viktor’s arms, safe and strong, wrap around him fully, and he’s pulled closer, closer to rest on Viktor’s chest. Yuuri clings back.

“I was so scared to lose you,” Viktor says into Yuuri’s hair. “That was crazy, what you did.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t explain it, but he could have been listening.” It must have been hard for him to wait and trust.

“I know,” Viktor says, stroking one hand up and down Yuuri’s back, petting him like a cat. “You were so brave.”

“You’re the one who got him to let me go,” Yuuri deflects. “I didn’t think he’d ever deactivate the chip.” He tucks his nose into the space between Viktor’s neck and the collar of his sleepshirt.

“I wouldn’t have been able to do anything if you hadn’t gotten us out. The whole troupe would be dead, absolutely.” Viktor curls a hand protectively at the base of Yuuri’s skull.

Rurik really would have killed them without hesitation if not for Audlin’s appearance. Yuuri kisses Viktor’s neck.

“I’m glad they’re safe. I really like it here, dancing with all of you. Please, let me stay with your troupe as long as I can.”

Viktor chuckles. “How about forever? Forever sounds good. I’d like that very much, Yuuri. Forever with you.”

Yuuri’s happy Viktor can’t see his face.

“Sounds good,” Yuuri says, muffled, overwhelmed.

They sleep.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri wakes up in the night more than once, gasping for breath. Alarm klaxons mix with visions of Rurik and flashes of Viktor’s betrayed eyes.

He’s always been mentally weak.

VIktor’s arm over him is heavy, safe. A warm reminder that he’s not alone. Viktor kisses his forehead and cheeks, whispering soft things, until the tears are gone. Somehow in the dark it doesn’t make his pride sting the way it would in the light of day.

 

* * *

 

The troupe arrives at Seran to a cheering crowd. The streets of the city they land in are worse for wear, and the crowds are full of tired people, heavy with stress, but their arrival is clearly a bright spot. There are banners and balloons, and the troupe spends time taking selfies with delighted fans. A few even ask for pictures with Yuuri, to his surprise.

He’ll contact his parents after they’re out of the Seran system, Yuuri decided. That gives him time to get around the tight communication controls and also to think about what exactly to say. And what he’s going to do from here on.

Viktor keeps a steady hand on the small of his back as they go through the press gauntlet.

It isn’t until they’re changing for the performance that Viktor asks about the stars on his back.

“Yuuri,” Viktor begins, like the thought pains him. “When did you get your body mod done?”

Yuuri had been hoping he wouldn’t ask. “I didn’t choose it. They were applied shortly before we met.” _Probably in hopes of catching your eye_ , Yuuri doesn’t add.

“Yuuri.” Viktor has to stop giving him that look.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says, and that’s almost true. “They’re not permanent. I could go to any shop and get them removed.”

“Did he do them all at once? That must have hurt so much!”

“They are beautiful. And in a way, they helped me meet you.” Yuuri says, bold to reassure. “I’m going to make them my own.”

Viktor reaches out with gentle, gentle hands, to the exposed starscape on Yuuri’s skin. He traces the space between a few jewels with reverent fingers. “You’re beautiful, with or without.”

Yuuri leans in closer. He’s with Viktor, ready to dance in front of a cheering crowd.

He reaches out, grips Viktor’s hands, laces their fingers together.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Yu-topia isn’t as popular now as it was years ago, and the building does show its age. The holo-sign out front drops frames in its lower-left quadrant, and the stone path underfoot is worn and smooth.

Makkachin adores it, swerving from one side of the landscaped path to the other so she can smell each type of flower and inspect each type of leaf. Yuuri wonders if she can smell Vicchan already.

“Yuuri, selfie,” Viktor says, draping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and pulling him in for a kiss. Viktor presses ‘upload’ immediately and then adds tags after the fact, so Yuuri can’t fret about how it turned out.

This one turned out great, though. All the social media commentators can possibly do is feel jealous, as they should.

Yuuri pulls Viktor forward, hand in hand, while Viktor adjusts his hair in his phone camera.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “They’ll like you.”

Yuuri has actually primed his parents to like Viktor since childhood, with all the posters and net specials and impassioned speeches about how Viktor is the _best_.

“Of course,” Viktor smiles.

Makka lets out a happy _boof_ when they get near the door and see the Katsukis waiting to greet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse post-story:
> 
>  
> 
> Then they pair ~~skate~~ dance together, in all their later performances. It’s super sappy and romantic. They set up on a station together with the troupe to perform, and live with their dogs, and visit Hasetsu sometimes where Yuuri’s family loves and adopts Vik. Yuuri still gets nightmares occasionally where he can’t breathe, but Viktor holds him and pets his hair and doesn’t make too big of a deal about it, even though he wants to.
> 
> Georgi also meets a new true love off-screen and she joins the troupe too. She is just as calm and realistic as he is dramatic, but it works and they’re very happy.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story! I sincerely apologize for the delay in the last chapter. I got a new job and it took some time to adjust. 
> 
> I really wanted to write a story that dealt with the ideas of personal agency/lack thereof, and have someone working within the constraints they’ve been given to come out on top and achieve their dreams. Sorry for all the angst, Yuuri, but you did it! Dream achieved!!


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